


I'd Know You Anywhere

by snowbellewells



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 59,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells
Summary: After witnessing a heart wrenching murder, Emma Swan and her young son Henry are on the run for their lives, soon ending up in Witness Protection with the FBI - in the midst of swirling danger, lies, and intrigue, where will she find strength and a new rock to lean on to get them through?
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been on my ff.net account for some time, so I apologize to anyone who’s gotten this far thinking it’s a brand new story. It's much longer than any fic I've posted on here before, other than my CSSNS werewolf fic, more involved, and has a completely AU non-magic setting, somewhere around the timeframe of the season two premiere. It's meant to be intense and suspenseful with some slow burn romance building as it goes along. There are elements of different movies I love, from 'The Bodyguard' to 'Sister Act' in here, and most of the police/FBI knowledge I'm using comes from television, but I hope it still melds into its own unique thing and that readers will enjoy it. Definitely still CS, and I'd definitely still love to hear what people think as it goes along.

_Prologue_

_'Keep going…faster…don't look back,'_ her mind repeats in terror as her feet hit the pavement over and over. Emma Swan clutches her son's small hand in hers even tighter. She is desperate, knowing he is stumbling, tired, and confused, but not daring to slow down or stop. "Just a little further, Henry," she breathes, trying to comfort him, though her mind is its own horrified blank, and she doesn't know what she's doing or where she's going.

_'Think Emma,'_ she orders herself, forcing a deep breath and trying to focus.

People call out bets, various machines ring and whir, coins rattle and clink, men and women push in all around them until she and Henry are like salmon swimming upstream. All Emma Swan can do is keep looking over her shoulder, praying they haven't been followed, praying they won't be caught.

She had only wanted to ask a question. Things had been routine, normal. She had gone to Spencer's office, wanting to make sure she had the correct job assignments for the day. As head of security at The Kingdom, Vegas' ritziest hotel and casino, and proud of the position which was admittedly an unusual one for a woman, Emma liked to make sure the owner, George Spencer, was pleased, and that she and her team were aware of any new problems or red flags which might be on her boss' radar. She had given her customary curt knock, thought she had heard no answer, and stepped in – as she often did. What she had seen instead shattered her reality in one sweeping moment.

Where she had been expecting Spencer's aged but still imposing figure sitting behind his rich, mahogany desk, Emma had instead seen him holding a revolver against the temple of a very familiar figure, held in place by two of his henchmen, Greg and James.

Emma is no naïve innocent; she'd always known there were shady dealings at her place of employ – though she had never been involved in any of them. Walking in on cold-blooded murder, however, is still a nightmare she can hardly believe. She had frozen for a second, thankfully making no noise, and she honestly isn't sure if she was seen or not. She had quickly backed out, and let the door close silently, then she was running to she, Graham, and Henry's living quarters.

Tears keep streaming down her face, and Emma can only hope that Henry doesn't see; she doesn't want him to be any more traumatized than he must be already. Her hands shake beyond her control, no matter how valiantly she fights to stay calm for her little boy. She simply can't stop seeing the blood, hearing Graham's body thump against the floor, and the horror of that silent moment, viewing her boss' evil look of self-satisfaction and fearing she had been detected. It had taken her only seconds to reach the elevator up a floor, mere minutes to slip into the room she had left Henry contentedly playing in, and scoop all the clean clothes in her dresser drawer and then Henry's into a large duffle, tell her son (with what she'd attempted to make a look of bright-eyed excitement) that they were going on an adventure, take his hand, pull him to the door, scan the hall, and then slide them both into the elevator again unseen.

"What happened, Mama?" Henry looks up at her now, confusion plain in his open, trusting gaze. She doesn't want to frighten him, but she can't risk slowing down to explain, or for them to be heard, so she leans down to give him a quick, gentle squeeze and rub his arm.

"It's okay, Baby," she whispers, looking him right in the eyes, willing her little boy to believe her. "Mama won't let anything happen to you. It's gonna be fine. But we have to be very quiet right now. Can you do that for me?"

Henry nods seriously, as sweet and agreeable as always. For a second, Emma is unnerved once more by the feeling she sometimes has, that her child is a small adult trapped in a five-year-old body. At any rate, Henry says no more, simply holds onto her trembling hand, clutching his beloved _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ picture book under his other arm.

The elevator pings as they reach the lower basement level of the casino and the employee car park. Emma debates frantically for a moment whether she should try to find Graham's battered Jeep or not. _'He certainly can't need it anymore,'_ her tangled thoughts weep bitterly. She decides against the search though, realizing that the parking garage is large and full, and she will waste valuable minutes hunting. Yes, they can make better time driving than on foot, but only if they get into the vehicle and away before someone finds them. Instead, she pulls Henry at her side up out of the lower level onto the packed city street.

Rushing, but not running conspicuously, down the Vegas strip, the night drapes around them in flickering shadows lit and spun by the dancing lights of casinos, quickie chapels, all-night diners, and hotels. Henry trips and nearly goes down, only the fact that she's clutching his hand so tightly prevents his fall. Crying out sharply, he forces Emma to stop for a second, seeing that he has dropped his favorite story. She stoops to grab it before some passerby can knock it away, then scoops both it and Henry up in her arms and keeps going.

She still glances behind her constantly, praying she won't see the known faces of any of Spencer's goons. There have been no running feet following them or angry voices shouting for her to stop, but Emma can't slow the racing of her heart or shake the sense of being chased, of not being far enough away to be safe.

Seconds, minutes, and then nearly an hour slide by. Emma is almost stumbling from exhaustion as well, exertion from hurry, fear, and carrying Henry nearly pushing her beyond the limits of her endurance. Her little boy hasn't made any more noise; she knows he is trying to do as she asked, but she can feel his slender little shoulders shaking beneath the hand she rests on his back, and feels his silent tears wetting the skin at her neck where he has buried his face. "It's okay, Baby," she soothes in a panted whisper. "We're about to stop and rest."

Emma feels his nod, agreeing with her as he always does. Her heart breaks a bit more for her little boy. How is she going to tell him that "Papa" is gone? That they no longer have a home to go to? That she is as lost and scared as he is?

They are nearing the edges of the gaudily-packed street now; there are still bars and restaurants and motels, but the whirl of beckoning bulbs and cacophony of sounds have faded a bit. She stumbles into the most nondescript – and admittedly seedy – motel in sight and makes her way straight to the check-in desk.

"Single room for one night," she states simply, keeping her head down and face partially hidden behind Henry's body. The clerk doesn't ask any questions, simply takes her cash, hands her a key, and slides a clipboard with the sign-in sheet across the desk to her. Thinking quickly, Emma writes 'Mary White' as her name, hoping it's much more common than 'Emma Swan', though she doesn't quite know how the alias comes to mind so quickly.

Nodding to the clerk, she turns away and heads down the hall, letting herself and Henry into the simple room at the far end. She bolts the door firmly behind them and tries to quell the fear inside her insisting they can't stop, they aren't far enough from danger yet. _'Henry's only five,'_ her mind berates. _'You have to let him rest. And you have to make a plan, calm down, regroup. They didn't see you leave, they can't trace cash, and you used a false name. You don't even know that they're after you.'_

Sighing tiredly, Emma lays Henry down on the bed, takes off his sneakers, and then covers him up warmly. She slides out of her own boots and work blazer, leaving her tank and slacks on, in case they have to leave suddenly. It is nearing midnight, but she sets her alarm for four a.m. anyway, wanting to be moving on again before the rest of this nocturnal pit stirs. She isn't at all sure she will sleep anyway – not without sickening images replaying in her head – but she can push her body no further tonight. Where they go from here is a question she has no answer for yet.


	2. Chapter One: Dream Warning

  
  


_ Chapter One: Dream Warning _

_ 'Emma' _ a soft voice, almost so quiet as to be missed, breathes in her ear, stirring her from restless sleep.  _ 'Emma, you have to wake up! Please…you need to go!' _

Emma jerks awake with a start, gasping for breath as she sits bolt upright in bed. Henry sleeps on beside her, completely lost to the world in slumber – for which she is glad. She, however, is wide awake, even with just barely two hours' sleep. The clock on the nightstand flashes 1:59 a.m., and all is still but the loud hum of the room's substandard air conditioning. Images flash through her mind, one after another coming back to her. She had been in that room, seen Graham struggling in the hold of Greg and James, but this time she had been facing him, seen his warm, gentle eyes widen just before the fatal shot, had seen her name form on his lips in silent farewell. Then, there had been a petite, dark-haired woman leaning over her, heart-shaped face sweet with sincere concern as she leaned to place a warning in her ear. Now awake, Emma is left with merely that snapshot of care and the echo of the woman's words. All she knows is that she needs to get up, and they need to move. For whatever reason, she's been given a sign and they aren't safe anymore.

She stands, throws her jacket back on, pulls on her boots, and then comes around the bed, gently shaking Henry's shoulder to rouse him. He mumbles grumpily, a wrinkle appearing between his eyes, and curls tighter away from her. "We've got to go, Henry," she urges, picking him up without any further hesitation. "I know you're still sleepy, but we can't stay here." She picks up his shoes as well, takes a last glance around their room to make sure they've left nothing behind. Quickly, she grabs Henry's book from the pillow and stuffs it in her purse.

Emma sneaks out of the lobby silently, not seeing anyone, even a clerk on duty. She doesn't know where to go next, and worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she glances around debating.  _ 'To the police,' _ she answers herself with a decisive nod, moving to the street and hoping to hail a cab.  _ 'It's not safe for us anywhere else.' _

Luckily, a taxi pulls up before she has to stand in the open for long, and she bends to scoot into the backseat, still cradling Henry against her chest protectively. "I need to go to the nearest police station – quickly, please," Emma tells the cabbie when he looks back to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Right you are, little lady," the man answers brightly, taking off and giving her a friendly smile that does reassure her a bit.

They ride in companionable silence for a few minutes, Emma stroking Henry's hair and praying she's making the right move. It isn't until their driver clears his throat nervously and attempts to catch her evasive gaze in the mirror that she is snapped back to her present company. "If you don't mind me saying Miss, you and your boy look plumb worn out. I hope the trouble you need the police for isn't serious…" He lets his words trail off leadingly, and while Emma appreciates what seems to be genuine concern, she can tell the man is also curious and fishing for details. She can't chance it. She doesn't know how far Spencer's net of connections goes, or how many underlings he has that she hasn't seen and wouldn't recognize.

"We'll be fine once we reach the authorities," she replies, trying to sound confident. Her “I hope” is added under her breath.

The cabbie nods kindly, offering only an, "I'm sure you're right," and returning his eyes to the road. A few minutes later, they stop in front of a precinct building. Emma pays him and watches the taxi slide back into traffic, then turns, wrangling her duffle, purse, and Henry once more, through the main entrance. When she reaches the front office, a desk sergeant looks up questioningly, beckoning her forward. "May I help you, Miss?" he asks.

"Yes, I, um…" Emma fidgets, not sure how to blurt out what she's witnessed. This is simply the only place she can think of to go for safety. "I witnessed a murder," she finally forces herself to say, swallowing hard and hoping that Henry will stay asleep through this.

The officer's eyes widen slightly and the helpful smile falls from his face; his whole aspect turning serious and concerned. "Are you alright?" he questions, coming from behind the desk to usher her forward, a gentle hand going around to guide her.

"I- I'm fine…considering," Emma says with a half-hearted and shaky smile, then follows the shorter, portly man as he leads her into a small, quiet office and helps her stretch Henry out to lie more comfortably on a short couch along the wall.

"Just let me find a detective, or the Captain, and we'll take your statement shortly," the office assures her. "Don't worry, Miss. You're safe here."

Emma nods, sinking into the chair placed before the simple desk, lacing her fingers together nervously, her knee bouncing with tension. The adrenaline from her disquieting dream still hasn't faded. She should be exhausted, and yet she can barely sit still. Her history with the police isn't one to put her at ease either, but necessity is forcing her hand.

They don't keep her waiting long. Soon, another officer – from the look of him, a higher-ranking one – enters, shakes her hand, thanks her for coming, and takes his seat behind the desk, facing her. Without much prompting, Emma tells her story, glancing aside only to see that Henry is still asleep. When she finishes, the officer leans forward, elbows on the desk and hands steepled at his forehead. "I'm glad you came to us, Ms. Swan," he states, his grave calm helping to ground her. "Of course we intend to do everything we can to bring the perpetrators to justice. However, there are some things you need to know, and we need you to stay here until reinforcements arrive. It wouldn't be wise for you to leave now, unprotected. What you have witnessed is part of a much bigger string of events. You should also be aware that there are FBI agents on the way to meet you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~oooooo~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Kil," Agent Ruby Lucas sticks her head in the doorway of her partner's office, pulling his attention from the early morning memos and e-mails at his desk. "David wants to see us in five," she adds once he looks up at her. "He seemed tense, must be big."

She gives him an intrigued sort of grin and wink, takes a big bite out of her customary Krispy Kreme breakfast, and disappears down the hall, probably to her own office for a moment. FBI Special Agent Killian Jones sighs, swiping a hand through his unruly dark hair, pushes his desk chair back, and straightens, stretching his arms over his head to work the kinks from his neck. He came in early, focused on clearing some of the backlogged paperwork off his desk, and he's stiff from uninterrupted hours of tediousness. He isn't done, but he's made progress, and there is nothing left which can't wait until he and Ruby take care of whatever their supervisor has for them. Standing, Killian switches off his computer, knowing they often head out right after a briefing. He grabs his "go bag" sitting on the extra chair by the door and heads down the hall to Supervisory Special Agent Nolan's office.

Ruby steps out of her neighboring office as he passes, her long, leggy frame easily allowing her to match his pace and fall into stride with him. She looks sidelong at her partner with a mischievous grin, "Geesh, Kil, how long have you been here already?" she asks, pretending to tease, though her true concern shows beneath the words. "Did you even go home? You look like you've put in a whole day's work already, and we're just getting started."

"What's it to you, Lucas?" he smirks, glancing at her from the corner of his twinkling eyes, not one to let her poke at him without tossing some snark right back.

She shrugs, nudging him playfully with her elbow, to let him know not to take her next remark seriously. "Nothing to me, Jones. I just don't wanna take a bullet out there because my partner should have had my back but fell asleep on the job."

He slings an arm over her shoulders companionably, tugging on a lock of her long, brown hair, knowing it annoys her. "Never fear, Darling," he tosses back flippantly. "I am always a gentleman. Can't have a lady getting hurt on my watch."

She snorts inelegantly, shrugs out from under his arm, and shoves him away with an unimpressed "Please!" whose bite is ruined by her snicker halfway through.

By then, they have reached the doorway of Agent Nolan's office, and hearing them coming, he looks up, beckoning them in. "Morning," he greets simply, indicating the two chairs before his desk so they can get underway. "Here's what we have."

Killian and Ruby do as requested, a curious glance passing between them at David's manner. The man is an excellent unit chief: fair, honorable, professional, decisive, but he is usually not so blunt and to-the-point. Killian immediately finds himself agreeing with Ruby's assessment that whatever they are about to hear must be huge.

He isn't kept wondering for long. "Las Vegas PD had a young woman and her five-year-old son turn up in their lobby at three o'clock this morning, looking exhausted, scared, and overall a good bit worse for wear. On sight, the desk sergeant assumed domestic disturbance of some sort, until she informed him she was there to report a murder. That got his attention, and he found the chief of detectives to get her full statement. The story that came out led him to get us involved…" David pauses at this point, passing case files to both his agents and letting them open the manila folders to peruse the pictures and basic information within. Once they silently begin to do so, he continues. "Emma Swan and her little boy, Henry. Native of someplace called Storybrooke, Maine. Abandoned as an infant. Bounced around foster homes until she was 17, then she ran away just before she aged out of the system. She turned up in Portland, Oregon, where she was arrested for possession of stolen goods – partner left her holding. Served eleven months in a minimum security prison in Phoenix. She came out of that with the kid, seems she went in pregnant. The kid was in foster care the last couple months of her sentence. Don't know how she got custody again when she didn't appear to have a thing to her name. The boy's father is unknown. From there, she apparently ended up in Vegas, working as head of security at The Kingdom casino…"

David is just giving them the highlights, and Killian is skimming over the file before him, half-listening, until his superior's last words snap him to attention, ice blue eyes suddenly more reminiscent of the hottest flames than any form of water. Ruby glances across at Killian anxiously, knowing her partner well. Shooting him a look that warns him to keep his cool, she is the one to clear her throat and ask Agent Nolan. "This is the same Kingdom owned and operated by George Spencer, and a branch of the Gold-Mills crime syndicate in Boston?"

David nods tersely, pausing in the litany of facts he has been reciting to study his two best field agents closely. He knows it has to be these two. The moment this case came across his desk an hour ago, he'd known they couldn't afford to send anyone less accomplished, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Agent Killian Jones is smart, intuitive, and fearless; Jones can read both subjects and situations like open pages in a book. However, he is driven by emotion, and his own personal history with the Gold-Mills ring makes him both volatile and vulnerable. Agent Ruby Lucas is more practical and less obsessively driven – resourceful, gutsy – but she is younger than Jones and fiercely loyal to her partner; she would run right after him onto a sinking ship, even if it was the wrong call.

Still, this case is too big, too important, to trust to anyone else. This syndicate has slipped through the Bureau's fingers for too long, and has their hands in a bit of everything: illegal gambling, money laundering, extortion, kidnapping, assault, and murder. They have gotten away with their dark deeds much too easily, and he wants his best on the ground with this one, making sure the string of atrocities stops. Plus, he can't in good conscience keep Killian from this, no matter how much his gut warns him otherwise. The man has lost too much to these thugs and their boss, and he deserves his chance to see justice done. David Nolan can only console himself with the reminder that it is better Jones be involved officially and held to Bureau guidelines than go rogue and involve himself anyway – which he would do – and take no restrictions into account.

Killian's eyes meet his with a simmering rage that almost makes David reconsider his decision. "And just why does a woman who is probably the girlfriend or mistress of one of Spencer's thugs and works for the evil prat merit our trust or concern?" he seethes quietly. His words are controlled, but his voice snaps out the words in a way that makes his Irish brogue sound more cold and brittle than either of his co-workers has ever heard it.

David leans forward, elbows on the desktop, staring straight back at his agent, reminding Jones just who calls the shots, and spells it out clearly. "Because she is willing to testify. There is no proof that she was ever involved in any of the criminal proceedings on the side, and because she walked out of Spencer's employ and onto his hit list last night when she saw her boss put a bullet in her boyfriend's head. Her boyfriend didn't just work for Spencer. He was a CI for the Vegas PD, providing intel on a separate case they were building against him out there. The guy was a low level employee, just hoping to make a fresh start and a better life for the two of them and her boy, and he ended up paying with his life."

The two men stare at each other silently for a moment, both tense and stubborn, while Ruby glances nervously between them. Finally, Killian breaks the face-off, looking down at his hands for a moment, before quietly conceding, "Aye, Mate, you're right. That does seem enough to turn her firmly to our side."

"Alright then," David nods, standing up along with Jones and Lucas. "We need you out there ASAP. Get yourselves ready, read over the files on the plane, wheels up in twenty."

Both agents turn to leave, but David calls Jones back for a moment. "Killian," he warns, holding the other man's stare and speaking with deadly seriousness. "I know you want to nail this whole group more than anybody. It's understandable even. But I need you at the top of your game. Do not let the past compromise your ability to do your job, or you're out. Got it?"

"Yes sir," Killian replies, tone clipped, but gaze steady as he agrees to his supervisor's terms. He is out the door and beyond David's hearing before he mutters, "Unless it can't be helped."


	3. Chapter Two: Out of the Dark

  
  


_ Chapter Two: Out of the Dark _

_'How could I not even know?'_ Emma keeps asking herself, the disturbing words running circles in her mind like an endless refrain. _'Why didn't Graham tell me?'_ The detectives have taken she and Henry to a larger room where they've set Henry up with a blanket and pillow in an armchair in the corner and he has now curled up and gone back to sleep. Emma tries to comfort herself with the small blessing that he must not be too traumatized if he can sleep so easily. She can't say the same for herself.

There were so many questions about Spencer, his other employees and underlings, the layout of the casino, and countless other details, that she had begun to feel interrogated – as if she was the suspect. Head spinning, eyes burning from lack of sleep and turbulent emotion, Emma had finally snapped at the detectives questioning her, and they had left her alone. Now she is sitting all alone with her sleeping son, awaiting the arrival of the FBI agents assigned to her case. Apparently, Spencer himself is only a lieutenant of a larger crime ring on the East Coast – one that the Feds have been after for years. That blast of information only returns Emma to the same disbelieving numbness and shocked anger she started with. 'How was I so completely in the dark?' she keeps wondering. Suddenly it seems that her life for the last six years has not been real, but some sort of waking dream turned into a nightmare.

She decides that whoever comes in to question her next is going to have some explaining of their own to do first, and that is when the door opens and two people she hasn't seen yet enter. Straightening in her seat at the table, Emma narrows her eyes to study the man and woman coming into the room. Both are tall, lean, and dark haired; she can tell by the easy way they enter side-by-side and move as one to the table to face her that they are used to working together and that they must have made this type of entrance many times before. She wants to feel that she is in good hands now, but she finds herself angry with both of them instead. She didn't ask for any of this when she went to work yesterday. She never expected to see the first person she had been able to trust, who had truly taken care of her, murdered. She hadn't planned to be putting her son in worse situations all the time, or for them to be risking their lives helping law enforcement. That was what Graham had been trying to do, and look where it had gotten him. These people need her, not the other way around. She just has to answer their questions and then get out. Helping the cops is only going to put Henry at risk. Crossing her arms at her chest, Emma stares the newcomers down, lifting her chin defiantly, as if daring them to start the conversation.

The man arches his brow dubiously, and she tries to ignore the frisson of awareness at how handsome he is, until he unconcernedly goes right ahead and sits down across from her, his partner following, and acts not the least bit troubled by her cool reception. Emma is certainly not going to take note of those high cheekbones that a sculptor would covet in a model, or those piercing blue eyes that seem to stare right into her. Huffing out a frustrated breath, she tries instead to communicate that they are wasting her time and should just get on with it.

Somewhere behind the bluster, Emma wonders where all her anger and defensiveness is coming from, but it doesn't take long before she can feel tremors of fear trying to encroach on her thoughts again when she pushes the attitude back. She has always been tough, and knows that won't change now. This will not make her fall apart, not after everything she has already survived.

"Well, hello lass," the man says easily, looking as though he is all too pleased with himself and Emma should be too. "Ms. Swan, isn't it? I'm Agent Killian Jones, and this is my partner, Agent Ruby Lucas, FBI out of Boston."

Emma merely nods, telling herself not to thrill at the way his lilting, accented voice seems to caress every syllable he utters. He is obviously quite aware of his own charms already.

"We know that what you witnessed must have been upsetting, but we have to focus on our best move going forward. With your testimony, we may finally be able to put Spencer away, and deal a paralyzing blow to the Gold-Mills crime syndicate. You'll have to go into witness protection, of course, but that is standard –"

"Wait, hold on!" Emma interrupts indignantly, glaring at him now, and leaning forward over the table. "Testimony? Witness protection? What are you thinking?! I'm not doing anything to bring them after us! I have a son over there who I'm trying to protect, not bring down more trouble on him! I don't even think they know I saw anything!"

"Oh, they do," he assures her, voice stony and lowering to a deeper register. "I'm just trying to tell you what we're doing for you and the boy. We've handled this type of situation many times before and have it under control."

"Excuse me?!" Emma fires back, standing and pushing her chair away, suddenly flushed with both anger and panic, and needing some distance. "I am not the criminal here! You can't just hold us against our will and make us do what you want!

"Okay, stop, hold on a second," the pretty brunette – Agent Lucas, Emma reminds herself – breaks in, an arm on Agent Jones's to keep him from standing too. Her voice is calm and soothing, and when it draws Emma's eyes back, Agent Lucas gives her an encouraging smile. "Come sit back down, Ms. Swan. I'm sorry. I think we started off on the wrong foot."

"You can say that again," Emma retorts, but she finds herself trying to return the other woman's genuine effort and retaking her seat. "I was out of line too," she concedes after a charged pause, "but I'm running on no sleep, and all I can think is that I've put Henry in a situation where I can't protect him."

"You and your son won't be left alone," the female agent soothes, looking completely capable and confident. "As Agent Jones said, this is what we do. We won't let anything happen to you." She gives Emma another reassuring grin, one that Emma can't help but believe in and return.

"Thank you, Agent Lu- "

"Call me Ruby," the other woman interrupts, a wide grin making her eyes twinkle almost playfully. "We'll be getting to know each other quite well. There's no need to be so formal."

"Okay, Ruby," Emma says slowly. Now that she has settled and Agent Jones has backed off to pace behind Ruby, seemingly no longer even watching them, she tries to choose her words more carefully and focus on being less antagonistic. "I don't doubt either of your abilities, and I certainly don't want Graham's murderer to go unpunished, but I am not sure about testifying. It's so public and drawn out. Henry will hear things he shouldn't have to…he will be put at risk. How can you promise me they won't find him if I agree to this?"

Ruby, whom Emma is already beginning to genuinely like, reaches across to take her hand, squeezing it both in comfort and determination. She finds Emma's eyes and opens her mouth to speak again when Agent Jones swoops back in.

His startling blue eyes peg her, pinning her so she can't look away, and his voice is low and tight when he speaks, leaning over the table toward her in his intensity. "Look, Ms. Swan," he grinds out roughly, "there aren't any guarantees in life. I would venture to guess you know that better than most."

She sucks in a breath at his brash words, struck by the sudden unpleasant realization that he probably knows more of her past than she's comfortable with.

He plows forward without pause, disregarding her reaction. "However, this is bigger than you or me or Henry. These people have been hurting and killing innocents for years. They must be stopped, regardless of the risk or sacrifice it might involve. Besides that, you cannot hope to keep yourself safe from them, whether you help or not. The motel room you and your son were in last night was ransacked not an hour after you fled from it. Torn apart completely. You were extremely lucky to have taken your boy and left when you did. Luck like that will not hold out forever against such people."

Emma freezes, stricken by this last bit of information. They had been right behind her; they are after her and Henry. What would have happened to her baby if she had slept just a little bit longer? The air leaves her lungs as she remembers the kind-eyed, short-haired woman warning her in her dream. She can't tell these agents that though, doesn't want to seem crazy or pathetically emotional as well as shell-shocked and drained. Though it feels like a snap decision, Emma knows that they are right, and looking between the two agents in front of her, she realizes there is no other choice. Acquiescing to their knowledge, she finally dips her head in quick agreement.

"Alright then," Agent Lucas takes over the conversation again at that point, looking incredibly relieved that the seeming impasse has been resolved. "In that case, you'll be on a plane with us within the hour. We can't give you any more detail than that right now. Your lives are going to change. I won't lie about it, but we're going to do everything in our power to keep you and Henry safe."

Agent Jones meets her eyes for a mere second, giving her a quick bow of the head too before he glances away again. Emma tries to give them a smile, at least for Ruby's sake, though it fails miserably on her lips.

Then she is alone in the room once more. She wanders over to Henry's seat, moving his legs to her lap so she can sit as well. "Oh baby boy," she whispers sadly, sifting gentle fingers through his soft, chocolate brown hair. "Mama's sorry. I don't know what I've gotten us into…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to the agents' words, an hour later, as the midday sun shines in blindingly through the windows, they're on a private jet high in the air and heading back East. Emma tries to listen to Henry's enthusiastic chatter as he exclaims over the seats, the view out the window, and the ginger ale and animal crackers Ruby – whom he has quickly made into his newest admirer – brings him. Emma adores her little boy and his happy disposition; yet, so much has been thrown at her so quickly that it's hard for her to focus. Only after they have ridden in near quiet for a few minutes, while Henry munches his treat, and Ruby and Killian converse toward the back of the cabin, does Emma's brain snap back into disturbing focus as Henry asks the question she has been dreading most.

"Where's Papa?" her little boy asks, looking up at her curiously with his wide, innocent gaze. "Didn't he wanna fly wif us? Will he meet us there?"

Though she has been wracking her brain for two days in hopes of finding the words to explain that Graham is gone – forever – in a way her little boy can understand, the question still takes her breath, pain squeezing her chest like a fist and her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. She clears her throat, reaching out to brush the hair off Henry's forehead and looking him square in the eyes. "No, Sweetie, he's not meeting us. He – he couldn't come this time."

"Why not?" Henry asks, latching on now that he has started wondering, curious nature not failing just because his mother has no good answer.

Emma flounders, unable to lie to her child, but unwilling to shatter his innocence with the truth. "He – he wanted to, Baby," she finally tries lamely, hand rising to cup Henry's face. "He just couldn't get away right now…okay?"

Her smart, inquisitive little boy doesn't quite look satisfied, but his sweet nature seems to sense her distress, and he leans against her, wrapping his small arm around her torso as far as he can reach. "Okay Mama," he nods against her side and lets his questioning go. Emma knows he will wonder again, but she allows herself to put that problem away for the moment. She can't help a shaky laugh when a few seconds later he pulls out his Snow White storybook and begs her to read it to him again.

Opening it and trying to use her most expressive voice to spin the story's usual magic, Emma finds that for some reason, she keeps getting choked up as the Evil Queen's huntsman spares the poor fair princess and sends her fleeing alone into the woods. Tears escape despite her best efforts, and her words catch in her throat.

"What's wrong, Mama?" Henry asks, looking up at her worriedly. "Snow White is okay, 'member? She finds the dwarf house soon."

Emma shakes her head, wiping the tears quickly. "Yeah, silly me!" she answers with false brightness, trying to pass it off as nothing. "Give me just a minute, okay?" She stands abruptly, making for the bathroom and hoping her son will think she's alright when she returns.

Forcing several deep breaths, Emma splashes cold water on her face, then stares at her own sad reflection in the mirror over the small sink, willing herself to pull it together. She wants to slam her hands on the porcelain basin, scream, kick through the door, shatter the mirror, but she can't do any of that. She is trapped with strangers, going somewhere completely not of her choosing, and has to pretend everything is fine. In the last 24 hours, her whole life has somehow been taken from her and is no longer under her control. It isn't fair, but all she can do is force herself not to rail at the entire world in anger, take a deep breath, and put on a calm, reassuring face for her little boy.

When she finally steps back out to rejoin the others, she is surprised to see that the seating arrangements have shifted. Ruby now has Henry strapped in at the back with her, and they have moved on to another picture book. She is reading animatedly in varied voices for each character, and Henry is chortling enthusiastically, eating up her performance.

Emma's eyes slide warily back up to her seat to find Agent Killian Jones in the one next to it. He looks up as she draws near, an honest expression of remorse on his face. "May I speak with you a moment, Lass?" he questions sincerely, honeyed voice much kinder and more sympathetic than it had seemed to her before.

She shrugs, still avoiding those stunning eyes as she sinks back into her place.

Jones is not finished with her though. "I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior, Ms. Swan…Emma. I was insensitive and pushed too hard. I do not want there to be hard feelings between us, not when we may be spending a lot of time together for the foreseeable future. Hear me out?"

Emma glances up into his penetrating blue gaze…and she can do nothing else. She finds herself agreeing to his request.


	4. Chapter Three: Scratching the Surface

  
  


_ Chapter Three: Scratching the Surface _

Despite herself, Emma finds that she wants to hear what Killian Jones has to say. She wants to listen to that lulling voice as it rises and falls, calming her inside, even with the rough start they got off to. There is no way she can actively be in contention with him if she is going to have to trust Jones and his partner with her own – and more importantly, Henry's – life.

She lets herself float in those gorgeous cerulean orbs when he turns them on her, earnest now instead of condescending. It isn't so much that she is being taken in romantically, as that she is allowing to herself see the man's obvious good qualities, where before she had been trying to steel herself against every one of them that came to her notice. It's easy to smile at him encouragingly, now that her anger and adrenaline have waned and he is not trying to provoke her.

His voice is soft and low when he finally asks her, "You didn't even know he was an informant, did you?" The look is kind and understanding now, so different from how she had found him to be earlier that day, and though Emma doesn't know how he can seemingly understand so easily, she can't help feeling relieved.

She shakes her head sadly, not sure how else to sum up the loss but to swallow the tears rising in her throat and burning the back of her eyes and answer simply. "No, I didn't. I knew he wanted out of his job at the casino. He felt we should have Henry in a more stable environment…I agreed with him, but – idiot that I am – I was proud of my position. I liked being respected in my job. It was the first time I had ever been financially stable, supporting myself well… I didn't realize he had round another way with telling me... I was completely in the dark. I keep asking myself how….how I could have been so blind?" She blinks rapidly, swiping a hand under her eyes and averting her glance from his searching eyes.

Agent Jones lets his face truly soften for a moment. Reaching out, he looks as if he intends to touch her chin and raise her face to his, but then thinks better of it and pulls back again. Instead, he speaks gently, in a voice barely audible. "He must have thought he was taking his best chance, Swan," Jones murmurs, making her lean closer so as not to miss his words. "Surely he believed he was protecting both you and Henry."

"But not himself." Emma shakes her head, her voice sadly bitter. "I would rather have him alive and still with us than his being heroic, knowing he didn't trust me with his secrets."

Agent Jones matches her stare, making sure she takes in every word his says next. "Listen to me, Lass. He was right to keep you out of it. These people are ruthless. They must be stopped. For all the suffering, pain, and villainy they have committed for years." Here he pauses, drawing in a ragged breath and swallowing hard in a way that immediately causes Emma to suspect some emotion she doesn't yet understand. "Believe me, I know…more than you think. I am sorry for your loss. However, I cannot regret the courage your love showed. Were more people to stand up to them as he did, we could finally put a stop to their tyranny."

Emma sucks in a breath in pained surprise. She doesn't doubt suddenly that he has lost someone or something he loved to these monsters too. Strains of curiosity stir within her, but the weary sadness still holds most sway. "I'm glad you appreciate his bravery," she finally manages, bringing the conversation to a stop as the pilot announces their impending arrival, "but it doesn't make him any less dead. Because he tried to stop them alone, he's gone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000000000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the plane taxies down the runway, comes to a stop, and they disembark, their little foursome is met by Ruby and Killian's superior, Supervisory Special Agent David Nolan. The sandy haired man greets Emma and Henry with a paternal air, thanking her sincerely for her aid and cooperation in the case and assuring her that she is in the best of hands with his two most trusted agents. Emma doesn't know why – it's usually difficult for her to feel at ease or trust new people – but this man somehow seems both familiar and likable from the first moment. Henry grins up at him widely, missing teeth and adorable dimples on display, and immediately asks Agent Nolan if he can see his badge, if he can sit in front with him, and several other questions all in one long, uninterrupted stream.

Emma is a bit nonplussed for a second, wondering why her son is so guilelessly unafraid of strangers all of a sudden. Then, she realizes with a start that everyone Henry has met today has been there to help him and become utterly entranced by him. Her kid is definitely smart enough to see that Agent Nolan is no exception. Plus, Henry is good with people – much better than she's ever been. He probably feels the same safe ease around this man that she does, strange as it seems.

It flashes painfully into Emma's thoughts once more that Henry's sensitivity, his intuitive understanding of others, is something she has often attributed to Graham's influence. Though the caring, doting man Henry quickly took to calling Papa was not his biological father, Henry had been glued to her chosen man from the moment Graham had entered his life at about two years old. She shakes that thought from her head, resuming her pace as their little group crosses the tarmac to a dark Bureau SUV with tinted windows. Henry babbles excitedly to his new friends all the while.

The heavy humidity hangs in the air, heat almost so alive as to waver in visible lines before her eyes, making Emma wonder where they have landed. An almost sweet, floral scent perfumes the air, and as they pull out of the airport onto a main road, Emma sees flowering trees and bushes, and water further out. She guesses they are somewhere in the southern part of the East Coast, but can't pick a city. She is too desirous for control over some part of her situation not to ask. "So, now that we're here, can you tell us where you've picked for our new home?" She tries to ask the question brightly and make the best of completely losing all say, more unnerved than she would like to admit.

Agent Nolan chuckles good naturedly from the driver's seat in front of her and answers her honestly. "We're in Georgia," he fills her in. "Right now, we're leaving downtown Savannah, but eventually we'll be settling you in a nice little Southern town called Vidalia, a little farther into the state from the coast. We'll have you in hotels here and there for a few days, making sure nothing seems fishy and that we haven't picked up any tails. Then we'll get you to your final destination. We also have to wait on your new id cards, license, and the like, and work out some new particulars of appearance just to be sure you aren't immediately recognizable to those who are be looking." He meets Emma's gaze head on for just a second in the rearview mirror, sparing her a fleeting smile that is both decisive and apologetic – an odd balance to master.

More questions and protests run through her head at the knowledge. Changes in appearance? Georgia? But she sees no need to argue at this point. It won't do any good; it's was too late to turn back, and if nothing else, she can't help being a bit grateful to find she is now on the opposite side of the country from the man who took Graham's life.

By the time they reach the Hampton Inn the Bureau is putting the four of them up in for the night, Emma finds that she's almost beyond coherent thought and worry. She has so much to process, is so off balance, and more than anything exhausted from lack of sleep and long-drained adrenaline, that her head is spinning and her vision is blurry. As they pull into the valet parking, their sparse belongings are gathered by Killian and Ruby, and Emma moves to take Henry from the front seat and lets them escort her in. Agent Nolan reaches across to place a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Things look bleak now," he says in a warm, caring voice, "but they will get better. Hang in there."

She merely nods in response, biting her lip to hold the reaction in check. Then she lifts Henry into her arms and heads into the building between her two appointed protectors.

As they walk through the entryway, Emma stumbles sleepily, her toe catching on the doorframe that rises slightly from the floor. A startled gasp barely escapes, her reflexes slow and Henry throwing her off balance, when two firm hands grip her upper arms, bracing and steadying her before she can fall. She lets out a quick exhalation of relief and brings her eyes up to meet the concerned blues of Killian Jones.

He studies her carefully, the intention in his grip almost seeming to pull her closer instead of let go. "Alright there, Swan?" he asks gently, obviously intending to make sure she has her bearings.

"Yeah, thanks for the catch," she responds with a fleeting smile, feeling more than a bit breathless all-in-all.

"Glad I was there," he shrugs simply, as if he hasn't done anything much.

Emma is surprised to feel a blush growing across her cheeks and down her neck at both her clumsiness and her startling reaction to his proximity. On first meeting, she hated him, but all her reactions and emotions have been so up and down since then that she is gradually realizing she judged him too quickly. She smiles again sheepishly before ducking her head and following after Ruby, letting Killian hold the door for them.

They enter the elevators discreetly and ride up to a secure floor with limited access. By the time they find their adjoining rooms – Killian will take one, and Emma, Ruby, and Henry will be in the other – Emma is nearly asleep on her feet, the room swimming in front of her eyes dizzily.

"Tell you what," Ruby says brightly, taking Henry from her before she can protest. "Why don't you go in the bathroom, wash up, get out your pajamas and change, while I go through Henry's bag, find his things, and get him ready? You look about half-conscious – no offense."

Emma simply agrees with the arrangement, too tired to do anything else and takes her leave, smiling fondly as Ruby playfully asks Henry questions and Henry answers her between yawns, beaming up at his new buddy adoringly. She is in the bathroom for only a few minutes, slipping into a silky tank and shorts combo, pulling her hair back loosely and washing her face. The shadows under her eyes remind her just how desperately she needs to get some rest.

Stepping back into the main room, she's startled to nearly walk right into Jones's half-bare chest. Catching her by the shoulders, he holds her out at arm's length, cheekily adding "We must stop meeting this way."

His words coax a laugh from her, small but still hopeful, and she tries not to let it be cut off by her mouth going dry at the enticing sight before her of him in sweats and a V-neck white undershirt showing off coarse, thick dark hair disappearing into the collar and a well-muscled chest. She berates herself for even noticing, but it doesn't make the awareness go away.

Killian releases her and takes a step back, gives a nervous chuckle before raking a hand haphazardly through his shock of thick, black hair. It's a tell of uncertainty and doubt that she can't help but find endearing. When he meets her curious gaze, all he says is, "I just wanted to remind you that I am right next door. Ruby is more than capable, but still…if you hear anything, see anything, if anything seems at all amiss or strange…let us know." He reaches out hesitantly, tucking one escaped strand of hair out of her face and back over her shoulder. "We'll take care of you and your boy, Swan. I swear it."

She holds his gaze, seeing the truth in the depths of his blue eyes and wanting to thank him but not finding the right words. She finally settles on, "I believe you…and as you get to know me, you'll find that means a lot."

He slips back out the door and into his own room, Emma pads barefoot to her bed, smiling fondly at Henry already asleep on his side of their shared mattress. She crawls in beneath the covers next to him and hears Ruby mumble "goodnight" softly from the other side of the room. Returning the wish, Emma thinks confusedly before long-overdue rest claims her that though horrible things have swept her up in the last 24 hours, this night has not ended as terribly as she feared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000000000000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Agent Killian Jones lies awake for hours that night, tossing fitfully and punching the pillows, blinking into the darkness, but unable to get comfortable or find any rest. Emma Swan and her boy, and their whole awful situation, bring ghosts floating to the surface from the depths of his painful memories. Things he does not wish to dwell on anymore. These criminals – monsters, more accurately – have already stolen what little joy, what few connections he had in this world years ago. He had made the decision not to wallow in self-pity or let himself become crippled by grief, but as time had worn on and the syndicate had continued to slip through their hands, it sometimes felt as though all that was left inside him was the unflagging desire for justice and, if he were honest with himself, the all-consuming need for vengeance. It was a lonely road he had chosen; he knew that he kept others from knowing him well, held them at arm's length. If it were not for Ruby and Dave, he wouldn't have anyone close to him at all beyond casual acquaintances and interchangeable co-workers. He put on a fairly good show of being outgoing, jovial and flirtatious (when it served his purpose), but beneath the surface he had been a hard, aching void for far too long.

Something long forgotten, something achingly human had sparked to life in his numbed soul when he and Ruby had walked into that empty room in the Vegas P.D. and Emma Swan's head of golden hair snapped up to stare back at them, vivid green eyes flashing and ready for a fight. It had almost stolen his breath, that first glimpse of her, and he'd had to steal himself against the visceral reaction as if he were a green lad seeing his first pretty lass.

Killian had been angry with himself for letting a beautiful face distract him – even for a moment – from what really mattered. Emma Swan was giving them their first solid, traceable lead in nearly a year. They would be able to go after the Gold-Mills ring again in earnest. The fact that she had balked, had been hesitant to help them, the very idea of this chance dissolving, had made the tension in him snap, and he had shown utterly poor form taking his anger out of the woman. Clearly, she only wanted to do right by her little boy, and she had just seen her lover murdered in cold blood – the empathy he felt at that was a red hot lance through his chest. Of course she had doubts. That he had pushed her, purposefully frightened her more to gain her cooperation, made heat bloom across his face in shame. Even now in the privacy of his darkened hotel room, Killian could still feel the need to hide the incriminating flush of his skin.

He was lucky Ruby had been there to smooth things over, lucky that Dave had not been, or he might have been yanked from the case by now. Mostly though, he was lucky that this Emma Swan had accepted his honest apology, agreed to be their witness, and let the two of them start over. Unbidden, her face appeared behind his eyes, the ramrod straightness of what must be a steel spine beneath her weary, troubled exterior as she had finally agreed to testify and accept their protection. There was a resigned melancholy to her face as well, which he knew from her file came from the crummy hand life had already dealt her even before this latest blow. Yet, there was an indomitable sparkle to her eyes in fleeting moments, an enchanting dimple in her cheeks when she smiled as she had after he'd righted her and kept her from falling in the lobby this evening.

This woman elicits feelings he can't afford to acknowledge or explore, that he believed himself incapable of ever holding again. Turning with a frustrated sigh, he buries his head once more in the pillow, seeking sleep, but Killian Jones knows one thing for sure. This time they are going to catch Robert Gold, his shadowy accomplice known only as the "Queen of Hearts", and the rest of their lackeys. He will fight through hell and high water to see their horrible reign finally ended. Emma Swan and her boy will not go the way of past victims. He will protect them and see that they survive to gain a new life after this nightmare. It is his job, his duty, but more than that too. He wants to finally have a life of his own – something to hold onto besides the phantoms of the past, all he has lost, and the empty quest for absolution. After all, as Liam had often said to him and he repeats to himself now whenever his strength flags, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. He deserves more than he has been living with all these years, and he is done settling for half a life.


	5. Chapter Four: Goodbye to the Past

  
  
  


_ Chapter Four: Goodbye to the Past _

The next day dawns grey with drizzling rain on the horizon for the foreseeable future, yet Emma feels better upon opening her eyes than she has since her whole ordeal began. She slept like a rock for nearly ten hours, too drained and weary to dream the nightmares she had feared would come. Sitting up in bed, she looks around slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes and gathering her bearings.

Agent Lucas sits in a chair by the window, nursing a coffee and half-watching news on the room's television. The brunette quirks an eyebrow at Emma curiously once she sees that her charge is awake, then wishes her a good morning. "There's coffee in the bathroom where that little complimentary brewer sits," she offers helpfully.

"Thanks," Emma nods, standing and shuffling in that direction, grateful for at least one small bit of familiar routine. Henry is happily coloring on the floor with a wide array of crayons, markers, and several shades of blank paper that she knows Ruby must have found for him somewhere. She ruffles her boy's hair lovingly as she passes, and when he smiles up at her adoringly, she bends to kiss his forehead and cuddle him close in a hug.

"Morning Mama," Henry greets, chipper and wide awake, probably both from the large amount of rest he got the day before and the excitement of what must seem to him like a big, new adventure. 'Look!" he continues, holding up the page he's currently working on proudly. "I'm coloring this for Papa Graham, since he couldn't come with us and see everything. Can we send it to him when I'm done?"

Emma sucks in a sharp breath, the innocent request catching her off guard and piercing her chest anew. She has to stop reacting so harshly whenever Henry mentions the man who had always been a father to him. They are never going to see Graham again; she has to accept and deal with that herself, so she can find a way to tell Henry and help him grieve as well. For the moment, however, she merely releases the breath she's taken, calming herself and nodding. Not perfectly answering the question, Emma instead forces brightness into her voice to tell her son something that is true. "That's a gorgeous picture, kiddo. It's the trees and the sunrise and the water here, right?" Henry nods enthusiastically, his smile growing at her recognition of what he's drawn, and Emma continues. "Papa would love to see it."

The words are hard to force out without a quaver or tears, but she manages it because Henry seems untroubled as he returns to his drawing once more. Taking a seat at the foot of the bed next to Ruby's chair, Emma cradles the cheap, disposable cup of coffee in her hands like treasure, savoring the warmth against her palms and its strong flavor on her tongue before meeting the other woman's eyes over the rim.

"Did you sleep well?" the agent asked, clearly curious to know how Emma is holding up in other ways, but not pushing.

"Better than I expected," Emma allows wryly, appreciating her protector's tact, but feeling as if she could talk to this person – and might need to in order to purge the loss and confusion swirling within.

"Well, I'm glad for that," Ruby offers sincerely. "These next few days may still be tough, so I'm glad you got some rest, if nothing else."

"What do you mean, tough?" Emma questions, brow furrowing and thinking that she better get going on her coffee – she is obviously going to need more.

"Killian went out to get several of the things we'll need. Maybe it's better if I wait until…" Ruby trails off as Emma shakes her head in disagreement.

"Please just tell me and get it over with," Emma sighs, resigned and wanting to prepare herself.

"Okay," Ruby agrees, squaring her shoulders with a sigh. "Here goes… When people officially enter the Witness Protection Program, it's essentially like they are reborn as entirely different individuals. You and Henry will have new names, birthdates, Social Security numbers, ids, the works. All ties to previous homes, friends, family, jobs – all of those – must be severed completely so that the people coming after you can't track you through any of those old connections."

Emma nods her head encouragingly, remembering some of this from the night before and urging Ruby to go on and get it all out in the open.

"Beyond those standard precautions though, it's also much safer to make changes in appearance, so that you're both less recognizable."

"I understand," Emma answers, swallowing harder at the thought of her beloved little boy, all the family she has in the world, no longer looking like himself than any change she will have to make herself. "That makes sense."

"We won't change Henry's hair color or have him wear different colored contacts. He's so little," Ruby comforts. "Besides, a brown-haired, brown-eyed little boy is pretty normal. He won't stick out. We'll probably want to change his haircut mostly – nothing too drastic for him."

Emma merely nods.

"But, Emma, that mane of hair you've got is like a beacon. It's so long and noticeable; it's distinguishing, and you can't risk drawing attention. You'll have to change both the color and length. You may have to wear glasses, definitely go for muted colors. Maybe try to soften your look some – more feminine, flowing dresses – things that those who knew you at the Kingdom won't associate with your style."

It seems sensible enough to Emma, though she hates to think of hacking off her hair or changing its natural color. She is not a vain person, or overly concerned with her looks – until Graham came along, she had never felt particularly beautiful or had anyone tell her so – but she has always been fond of her hair. It is the one thing about herself that isn't easy to ignore, isn't forgettable. Still, she'll do it to help keep her little boy safe, without hesitation.

Ruby seems to have been expecting an eruption of some sort, and so when she gets nothing but mute agreement, she leans nearer, studying Emma closely.

"Are you okay?" she asks, dark eyes shifting to check on Henry, still coloring near them, to make sure he is safely preoccupied. "I know we've uprooted you, told you what to do, and asked a lot of you in a short amount of time, but I do want you to know that you can share or vent …in confidence. We may be in each other's lives for some time; I can't see why we shouldn't be friends, instead of just witness and agent…"

Again, the other woman doesn't push her, and Emma is immensely grateful. She draws in a shaky breath, and meets Ruby's searching gaze. The offer of a girl friend feels good; she's never had many, and if she had ever needed one, it's now. Too many things are clamoring inside her to keep them all contained, and so she doesn't have much to lose by trusting Agent Lucas completely. Wetting her lips, Emma finds the courage to start somewhere and begins to speak; leading with what comes to her first, hoping as she lets some of her secrets spill, that she will free herself from them. "Graham – the man I lived with in Vegas, the CI I saw murdered – wasn't Henry's father by blood. I met Henry's father in Oregon, not long after I fled the foster system. We were both runaways, pretty much surviving on what we could steal. We decided to join forces and help each other. We were basically living in an old Volkswagen he had lifted and gotten legit plates for. It sounds crazy, but I was as close to him as I'd ever been to anyone. I never had any family until him…and he – he almost became that for me. I believed we were going to make a home together. Then, suddenly I found myself in jail, serving time for something I did for him, and carrying his baby. I didn't know what to do. A smart person would have given Henry up for adoption…but I…I just couldn't. I knew what I had been through in the system, and I didn't want that for him. And – and …I needed him…maybe more than he needed me. With him, I finally had someone who wouldn't leave, who would love me back. I didn't meet Graham until I got the job at the Kingdom. Henry was nearly two by then, but he latched on right away, and Graham was so good to him – to both of us…"

Now that Emma has started talking, she finds that she doesn't want to stop. Ruby doesn't seem to mind, and so she keeps going, releasing the entire sordid life story she has clutched close to her chest for so long. She keeps checking on her son, making sure that he is okay and doesn't seem to be paying them any attention. He hums to himself as he finishes his drawing, then crawls up onto the other bed with his books, seeming perfectly content.

Neither woman notices that the adjoining door to Agent Jones's room starts to open, then stops and closes again, leaving just a small crack of space between door and wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian Jones returns with the assorted supplies on Ruby's list and is about to enter the other room when the sound of Emma Swan's voice arrests his motion. He honestly does not intend to start listening, but her words, and the sadness in her tone, tug at him and simply will not let him go. He steps back, making sure they won't notice his presence, but he cannot un-hear what Emma is saying, now that he's begun.

As Emma's life story unfolds, Killian finds himself moved by her story – drawing in a sharp breath upon learning that her jail time had been served in another's stead, admiring her determination to keep her baby and find a way to provide for him, and empathizing all too painfully with her being completely alone in the world. He resolves to somehow let her know that he understands – more than she knows – if he can find a way to do so. He certainly regrets his earlier assumptions and attitude toward her.

Finally, he hears Emma's voice trail off, ending her conversation with Ruby on the killing she had witnessed and admitting that she doesn't know how she is going to tell the little lad that the only father he has ever known is gone forever. Silence falls in the adjoining room, and Killian waits a few minutes more before knocking to announce his arrival.

"Come in, Killian," Ruby's voice greets. She sounds relaxed and off guard, but when Killian pushes in, hands full of plastic bags from the corner store, he is pleased to see that his partner is alert and prepared to strike if necessary. She sits tall and straight in her chair, hand hovering over her gun on the vanity.

Killian nods approvingly to her, turning to close the door behind him, and she immediately eases her stance. He holds up his purchases, grinning playfully at the two women and then letting his smile linger on Henry. "I come bearing gifts," he announces.

Henry stands and begins practically bouncing on the bed, arms outstretched eagerly. "Presents?!" he cries excitedly. "Can I see? Please?"

"I don't know, lad," Killian hedges, drawing out the boy's suspense, "better ask your mum."

The precocious little boy's eyes light up and his expression turns to rest on Emma hopefully, as if begging her to let him have whatever Killian has brought him. Emma is having a hard time keeping a serious look on her face, as if she really isn't sure it's a good idea. She knows she is going to tell her son 'yes' – she can't resist his innocent glee at something so simple – but she wants to string out his excitement for as long as possible after how good and patient he has been the last couple of days.

"Please, Mama?" Henry wheedles, thinking she is still on the fence. "Can't I have what Mr. Killy bought me?"

The room erupts as Henry's question registers with the three adults. Killian's eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, face rapidly flushing with embarrassment. Emma snorts, trying not to crack up at Henry's childish simplification of Jones's name. Ruby does lose it and bursts into cackling laughter, slapping her thigh and rocking back and forth in unrestrained mirth.

Henry looks both confused and slightly troubled. "What's so funny?" he questions, looking from one to the other of them as if trying to figure out what has happened and if they are laughing at him.

Trying to inconspicuously wipe tears of withheld laughter from the corners of her eyes, Emma manages to get her voice under control and hold out her hand for Henry. "Come here, Baby," she says soothingly, stroking his cheek when he climbs off the bed and stands before her. "We're not laughing at you. It's just that we haven't heard Agent Jones called that before, and it struck us funny. His name is Killian, not Killy."

Henry turns to Agent Jones, looking up at him guilelessly, "Oops," he says, "sorry."

To Emma's surprise, Killian Jones kneels down before Henry, putting him roughly at Henry's eye level, and smiles at her son easily. He speaks softly, his eyes kind, even if they seem to drift off somewhere else for a long moment. "It's alright, lad. I had not heard that nickname for a long time is all… Me older brother liked to call me that when we were young. No one else has ever called me that," he says, voice lowering to a whisper, and leaning in as if telling Henry a secret. "If it's easier for you though, you may use it."

Emma bites back another giggle at the sight of a hardened federal agent getting himself wrapped around Henry's little finger. In fact, she is pleasantly surprised by how good both Killian and Ruby are with her little boy. She melts just a bit at Jones and her son talking together seriously, like old friends.

Henry nods in response to Killian's words. "Okay, thanks," he says, smiling his gap-toothed grin at their protector, then asking as if he's about to burst, "now can I see my surprise?"

At that, Jones throws his head back with a full-bodied laugh. "Aye, that you can, my boy!" He takes the bag out from behind his back again, adding, "You're a right little pirate, aren't you? Can't be distracted from your treasure! I think I chose correctly."

Henry delves his hand into the bag, pulling out a play plastic spyglass. "Cool!" he exclaims, ripping the packaging apart, and then doing a little jig in place, before giving Jones a hug around the neck and turning to peer through his new toy at his mother and Agent Lucas.

"There you are, Mate,' Killian chuckles, standing again and moving to set the items in the other bag out on the bed. "Now you can survey your whole domain!"

Emma stands, moving to Jones's side for just a moment, before patting his shoulder and leaning to whisper teasingly in his ear. "You really are 'in' with him now…Killy." She absolutely cannot resist giving him a hard time; it's just too easy, even if she is glad he has made Henry so happy.

When Jones swings around to correct her, Emma is already moving away, turning back just long enough to toss a wink at him over her shoulder.


	6. Chapter Five: Still Lovely

_ Chapter Five: Still Lovely _

It isn't much later when Emma finds herself in the hotel room's small bath, sitting on the closed toilet seat with one of the complimentary towels wrapped around her shoulders and Ruby anxiously hovering over her shoulder, scissors in hand. The time has come for her transformation into someone else, and Emma holds her breath, trying not to react. Henry sits on the cabinet by the sink, watching avidly, and Killian leans in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching idly as well. Finally, Emma can't help her tense outburst, "For Heaven's sake! You're a gun-toting FBI agent; this can't be that frightening! Just cut already!"

Ruby startles, and then gives Emma a sheepish smile. "You got it," she chirps, as if trying to make her voice brighter than she feels. "It's just…your hair is really beautiful, and it's a big change. Honestly? …Even though I'm trying to keep you safe, I felt bad for a minute there." She squares her shoulders, blows out a deep breath, and begins to snip at the bottom of Emma's hair, only taking off an inch or two.

Instead of easing her nerves however, Emma feels herself tensing further with every second. For some reason, she can barely sit still. She isn't sure if it's the haircut itself, everyone watching her when she's used to being invisible, Ruby's tentativeness, or a combination of them all, but she feels herself wanting to jump up and run. When she can stand it no longer, she reaches up to snag Ruby's hand, taking the scissors jerkily. "Here, just let me do it!" she snaps, shooing them all out.

All three of her observers give her confused, questioning looks, until she grabs a large handful of her blonde locks and hacks it off at chin level, fire in her eyes and not even glancing at the damage. For some reason, she feels a sense of loss constricting her chest, but she carries on, embarrassed to be driven to extremes by such a silly thing, yet knowing it's true all the same. A tear stings the corner of her eye, and she blinks rapidly, hoping to keep it back as she soldiers on. ' _ There's no need to be so upset about it; it's just hair,' _ she snaps in her own mind angrily.

Growling in frustration at her own weakness, Emma sniffs the tears back and cuts off the last long section of hair she can feel in back, and then goes for the front, ready to chop herself some bangs.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, Lass!" Jones has re-entered the room without her notice, his voice pulling her up short even before he latches a firm clasp around her wrist. "Slow down. You needn't prove your determination to us."

She sighs, tense muscles relaxing, relinquishing the scissors to him slowly, and bowing her head. He reaches out, touching her chin gently to tilt her face up to his. "Why don't you let me help?"

Emma lowers her eyes again, pulling away from the warmth of his hand, but nodding simply in acquiescence.

Straightening, Killian's blue, blue eyes pierce hers, injecting the smallest bit of levity into the situation. "Maybe if we make it all a bit of a game. Takes a bit of the pressure off, eh Love?" he murmurs with a quirk of the brow. Then he calls out, "Ruby!" smiling at both she and Henry when they come back into the room too. "Why don't you give Henry that buzz cut he wanted while I do some damage control on this hatchet job of Swan's?"

She opens her mouth to argue, but he cocks his head at her. "Really now, Darling? You've got no way to refute that statement. Why don't you try something new and trust me on this one?"

Soon they are all set up, and Ruby is shaving Henry's hair over the sink while he tries hard to sit still despite his enthusiasm and general five-year-old wiggles. Emma is still sitting tensely in the same pose she has been, but some of the strain leaves at the expression on Henry's face and the exuberant swinging of his little legs over the edge of the cabinet. It's clear to her that he feels completely at ease – even enjoys the whole new experience. None of these changes seem to be upsetting him, so Emma blows out a deep, cleansing breath and forces herself to let some of her own concerns go.

"There you are, Darling," Jones' soft brogue greets her playfully, seeing the relaxing drop of her shoulders. He moves around her, slowly eyeing the cutting she has already done, scissors in his hand. Emma nearly jerks away from the shock of electricity that shoots through her when he finally runs gentle fingers through her remaining strands, skimming the nape of her neck and smoothing and snipping carefully to even up her work. By the time he focuses on the ends, and then cuts some long, sweeping fringe to frame her face, Emma is trembling on the inside and focusing nearly all her energy on making sure the reaction doesn't show.  _ 'How does he know what he's doing?' _ is a question she tucks away to ponder later.

Killian's warm fingers are placed against the skin of her face, keeping the stray hairs from falling into her eyes, and their breath mingles in the scant space between them. Their eyes meet and hold, neither one able to move or pull away. The frozen moment stretches on, both still as if transfixed, until Ruby exclaims, "Done!" and Henry turns to look in the mirror, crowing with delight at the outcome.

"Awesome!" he chortles, giving Ruby a high five, then jumping down, hugging her around the knees in thanks, and bouncing over to his mother, tapping her on the shoulder, and saying, "Look Mama! Isn't it cool? See what a good job Ruby did?"

Her son's enthusiasm snaps the intense focus between she and Jones, and Emma shakes herself, feeling time start to move forward again, as she runs her hands over Henry's newly-sheared scalp and grins back at him. "It's great, Buddy," she assures, making certain that her enthusiasm rings true, even if everything around her still feels a bit hazy.

"Okay my handsome dude," Ruby says brightly to Henry, stretching out a hand for him to take. "Let's go find some lunch for everybody. We'll bring it back and have a room picnic on the floor."

Henry nods enthusiastically and moves to follow her without hesitation. Ruby is glancing between Emma and her partner, sure something is going on and wondering what, but instead of pressing, she is simply allowing them some privacy to figure it out. She asks Killian if he knows how to handle the hair dying, to which he defensively answers in the affirmative, and then she and Henry leave them in the bathroom alone.

Suddenly going awfully silent, Killian turns to begin preparing the dye formula, and Emma merely watches quietly, wondering just how obvious she was if Ruby felt the need to clear out. The apples of her cheeks have flushed warm and pink with embarrassment – she can feel it – and she tries to decide what's come over her. Upon first meeting, this man seemed so callous, self-satisfied, and infuriating, but now, something tells her he understands far more than she initially gave him credit for. And she has never had such a visceral physical reaction to any man as the one she and Killian Jones just shared.

"Alright now, Swan," said man murmurs thickly, sending her eyes up to find his again and interrupting her thoughts. "I had cut hair before, but this dye job may be a bit of an adventure." He quirks a crooked smile at her, one full, dark eyebrow arching sardonically as he adds, "Still willing to trust me?"

Emma cringes inwardly when her words come out breathless, but she manages to respond. "Now's as good a time as any… I'm putting my life in your hands, might as well offer up my looks too."

He snorts in response, looking pleasantly surprised at her banter, and gracious enough not to mention how doe-y eyed she sounds. Slowly, he begins to apply the colored dye lotion to separate sections of her hair, again stroking down the strands, making sure all is covered evenly and even somehow managing to make it feel good, almost relaxing. Their eyes meet again as he finishes; she has awkwardly avoided his piercing stare while he works, but when his fingers linger, massaging her scalp, and he then steps back, voice conspicuously husky, to say, "All set. Now we just wait twenty minutes," she can't resist meeting his cerulean gaze.

If the charged look they shared before was intense, this one is twice so; the air around them so steamy Emma would swear the glass mirror is fogging up. Killian's gaze flickers down to sweep over her lips, tongue peeking out to wet his own, and she swallows hard, not moving away.

Suddenly, he averts his gaze, moving to take off the clinging plastic gloves and throw them in the trash. He clears his throat and glances at her again hesitantly, "Sorry about that there, Emma. Crowding you a bit, wasn't I?"

She shakes her head mutely, emotions wild and spinning, but he is already moving to the door. "I'm going to call David. See if he has any further directions for us yet. Info on your new aliases and ids, or what have you. I'll give you some breathing room. " With that, he is gone, letting the door click closed slowly behind him.

Emma nearly slumps against it, boneless and overwhelmed at the new range of emotions pulsing through her. It is certainly for the best that he has left her to catch her breath. She might well be losing her senses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes' time finds Emma showered, rinsed, dressed again, and nearly finished drying and styling her much-shorter hair. She knows she is stalling, using the room's complimentary dryer with her back to the mirror. The dark chestnut color shown on the dye box combined with the radical cut is going to be a shock, but she's trying to steel herself against anymore violent reactions.

Finally, she turns the machine off and puts it back in its wall bracket. Turning slowly, she finally meets her own reflection's eyes, holding her breath. Studying objectively, she knows that what she's seeing isn't too bad; for a scruffy, no-frills type of man, Killian Jones has done quite a good job with the cut and color. Still, she feels a singular burning sensation in her nose and the back of her throat, and her vision goes watery from tears that are threatening again, though she won't let them fall. It is frustrating how fragile and erratic she feels; she's always prided herself on being secure and self-reliant, not crying at the drop of a hat or falling apart at nothing, it never does any good, but now she is losing control every time she turns around.

Still, the stranger blinking back at her from the glass is unfamiliar – a person she doesn't know, but will have to become. Her life is no longer her own; she is no longer herself even. Nothing will ever be the same again, and everything she has worked so hard for since she left that prison in Phoenix is gone. Deep down, Emma easily realizes it isn't the haircut pulling at her; it's everything the cut symbolizes. Her hair is gone because Graham is dead, and she saw it happen. She barely recognizes herself because Graham's killers want to find her, and Henry, and silence them as well. This new person looking back at her is not Emma Swan – will never be her again. One solitary tear treks down her cheek and runs under her chin, but she swallows hard and barely makes a sound.

A light knock on the door gets her attention, with Killian's voice following it. "Are you alright in there, Lass? May I come in?" He chuckles, obviously trying to keep his tone light. "I dinna turn it purple, did I?"

Wiping away the tear tracks, Emma moves forward, turns the door handle and lets him in. He is completely still and silent for several achingly long seconds, taking in her appearance and the look on her face. Then, to her utter shame, Emma feels her lower lip trembling as she stands under his quiet, concerned appraisal. Dropping her gaze to her feet, she tries to hide her expression before he can see, but realizes almost immediately that she has failed.

Mere moments pass until he crosses the space between them and pulls her fully into his arms. Stiffening for a second, she tries to hold back, but finds the strong, bracing warmth and support too welcoming to fight. Leaning against him, Emma lets his wiry, muscled arms wrap around her securely, and her shoulders begin to shake, soundless but wracking sobs taking her over at last.

"I'm sorry," she tries to get out, her words muffled against the material of his shirt. "This is ridiculous…I just…"

But Jones stops her with a finger to her lips, holding her out at arms' length to shake his head and then give her a small, encouraging smile before wrapping her back up in his grasp. "Hush, Darling," he croons softly, voice rough with some sort of harnessed emotion of his own that she can't quite fathom. "None of that now. You've got right good reason to cry. Go ahead and let it out."

Emma wants to explain that she isn't this shallow, that the problem is more than it might seem, but as she leans into his embrace and he simply holds her, swaying gently back and forth, Emma senses that he already knows. Her eyes drift closed and she clutches desperately at his shoulders, fisting handfuls of his shirt in her fingers. Her breakdown stays quiet, but she is heaving for breath now, and clinging to him like a lifeline in a storm.

"Shh…shh…" he continues to soothe in that silky, low whisper, letting her purge the horror, the anger, the fear and uncertainty, giving her the chance to mourn what she finally recognizes as lost forever.

Eventually, her tears ease and Emma pulls back just slightly, wiping her face, drawing in a steady breath and finally offering him a watery smile. "Thanks," she rasps softly, "I don't know what – "

"Don't mention it," he assures her, stopping her apology mid-sentence.

She nods, and they stand together for a minute before he gives a playful smile and turns to look at the reflection once more. "You're still lovely, Swan," he states seriously, holding her eyes. "In fact, I quite fancy you as a brunette," he adds with a saucy wink, poking her in the shoulder and urging her to smile again. He even reaches up a gentle hand, brushing the dark fringe of her bangs off her forehead and tucking a few rogue strands behind her ear.

Another one of the long, vibrating silences begins between them as she leans into his touch, wondering what in the world is happening to her. Somehow, she doesn't feel all alone anymore; she trusts Killian Jones, and Ruby as well, to protect them. The face-off is only broken when they hear a key turning in the lock of the main suite's door. They hear it swing open and slam closed, then feet running across the floor towards them.

Just as the door into the bath swings open, Killian pushes her behind himself quickly, using his own body to shield her without hesitation. The tense face that greets them is Ruby's, Henry at her side, speechless and wide-eyed.

"Bloody hell, Ruby!" Killian exclaims. "Are you trying to give us a heart attack?!"

She only shakes her head, speaking urgently. "We've got to move them again! It's not safe here. Someone was following us!"


	7. Chapter Six: Gone Again

_ Chapter Six: Gone Again _

Their tires whir against the glistening, rain-slicked pavement, illuminated only by sparse moonlight as it stretches in a seemingly unending ribbon before them through the black night. The hum of the wheels on the interstate, the flow of constant motion, soothes the nervous energy and rapid beating of Emma's heart which has been her constant companion for hours now. Ever since Ruby and Henry burst back into the hotel suite with the suspicion that they were being tailed, Emma's stomach has been churning, bile rising in her throat, and panic pitched almost toward hysteria still trying to grip her completely.

_ 'If anything happens to Henry,' _ a small voice chants incessantly in her mind, _ 'If he's hurt because I reported the murder, I will never forgive myself. It's all my fault.' _ Emma twists and untwists the ends of the gauzy lavender scarf draped around her shoulders at Ruby's insistence. A silly, girly accoutrement she would never have bothered with in Vegas – and apparently therefore perfect. Her brow furrows and she continues to stare resolutely between her lap and the road before her. Ignoring the glances she can feel Jones throwing sidelong at her from the driver's seat and refusing to look at Henry sleeping in the back next to Ruby, who is silent and alert as an animal on the prowl.

They had acted immediately that afternoon – careful, quick, and decisive. Within the hour, they had been spirited away once more. Calls were made to Agent Nolan, who'd had the hotel swept by an entire team. No one had been found lurking, but that didn't comfort Emma or her protectors much. David Nolan's mouth had been a tense, thin line of consternation and anger. Everyone trusted Ruby's skill and instinct enough to be sure she had indeed seen someone, and there was no doubt that the perpetrator would be back to make another attempt, given time.

The decision had been made and carried out swiftly. Two other teams of agents with male-female partners and similar body types had taken two people – a woman and a child that could pass for Emma and Henry – off in nondescript cars, minutes from when Agent Nolan had sent them off with Ruby and Killian. All had gone in different directions, but she assumes they are the only ones still driving to some unknown destination, some new place where she will once again attempt to make a life, for Henry's sake at least. She knows better than to hope any such thing for herself; what they are fleeing now only confirms that she will always be a drifting loner with no true home. She had hoped there could be more for her little boy. Neal might have abandoned her before Henry ever knew him, but Henry had loved Graham dearly. Despite their somewhat odd and nontraditional surroundings, Emma had thought him happy and secure with the little family they'd formed. Now, largely due to her poor choice in employer and unfailingly terrible timing, Henry's very life is in danger, the family he knows destroyed, and he might well have to spend his life running – just as she has always done…

At this moment, Kilian clears his throat and finally speaks into the silence between them, as if reading her thoughts. "None of this is your fault, Emma. Stop blaming yourself." His rough fingertips reach over to ghost across the top of her hand, and then begin to pull away, as though he fears he's overstepped. Emma quickly clutches his hand and squeezes it gratefully, trying to use the contact to anchor herself.

She turns to look at him, seeking encouragement in his warm smile and kind eyes. The duality of this man intrigues her, and it is what allows her to feel a safety that neither the tender caregiver nor the hardened agent alone would. Obviously, he is strong, confident, decisive – a leader – and skilled at what he does. Those traits came across so strongly when she first met him that she'd reacted poorly, going head to head against him for no reason as she misjudged his intentions. Now, though, in quieter moments, when she lets herself, Emma can see the quiet, the calm – a truly soothing side to her guard that she originally missed. She sometimes senses a pain behind Killian's eyes as well. She doesn't know why or what has caused it, but when he looks at her with sympathy, as he is doing now, she senses his understanding to an acute degree.

They barrel on through the night, and Emma begins to feel the tranquility Killian Jones is trying so hard to convey to her. Yet, she also notices as the minutes stretch on with no more words spoken between them that his calm does not spread through his whole body. She can see the knotted tension in his forearms and how tightly his strong fingers grip the steering wheel – enough that it turns his knuckles white. His intent gaze under heavy, dark brows flicks over to her again, studying her, trying to gauge her state of mind, then darts away. Emma sees too that he is stealthily checking the rearview mirror, just as she has been, making sure they aren't being followed. The nagging suspicion that they will be caught unawares doesn't fade, but every glance back that appears normal eases her immediate fear, if only a fraction.

With a sigh, Killian reaches for the cup of bad fuel stop cappuccino in the holder between them, and a tired, husky chuckle escapes Emma's throat. "You know you might as well drink straight sugar, right?" she scoffs good naturedly at him. It's an endearing little quirk for someone who comes across as so tough and no-nonsense: the sweet tooth this man possesses rivals that of any five-year-old.

"What of it, Lass?" he fires back challengingly, making a show of savoring his next swallow of the warm, sticky-sweet drink.

"Nothing, nothing," she murmurs, clearly letting him know that she's still mocking his beverage of choice.

"Might as well enjoy my caffeine, if I'm going to be downing it anyway," he explains, raising the travel cup to her in a playful toast that she returns with her bottle of grape juice.

After doing so, Emma drops her gaze, suddenly feeling guilty again. Who is she to give the guy a hard time? He's mainlining coffee so he can stay awake to drive all night, all in hopes of saving her scrawny neck. She rubs her own eyes tiredly, barely stifling an accompanying yawn, hoping that Killian isn't as deeply weary as she is. She's already decided that she is going to stay awake with him as he drives. He and Ruby are doing their best to keep her and her son out of harm's way; she can at least show some support and keep him company. Emma doesn't know why their first placement had been discovered and fallen apart in less than 24 hours. If she and Henry had been too noticeable, had done something wrong, dropped a clue somehow, or merely drew the ire of the wrong bad guys, but she feels doubly compelled to pull her own weight – to help in some way – even if she has no idea how to accomplish it.

"Blimey, Love," Killian exclaims after a few moments, looking concerned but also exasperated in equal measure. "You're doing it again!"

"What?" she asks, startled.

"Thinking that this is your doing," he returns, his voice low so as not to wake Henry. "Do you always take the blame on your own shoulders? You did nothing wrong…None of us did. They're thorough and absolutely ruthless. It's why this organization has been so hard to stop…and why they are so dangerous."

She sighs, her shoulders slumping, realizing it does no good to deny his observation. For whatever reason, Killian Jones can read her more clearly than anyone she has ever encountered. "Fine, it's not my fault," she repeats with little emphasis. "So what are we trying now? How will this second time be different?"

"Because this time," Killian briefly glances back to catch Ruby's eyes in the mirror. When his partner nods, he continues, "It's completely off the books. No other agents or anyone in the field office – no one but David, Ruby, and I – are on this case, know your new identities, or where we're going. I cannot imagine anyone in the field office being on the take and leaking the information before, but this time there is absolutely no chance. If I know Dave, he's tearing the whole office apart for bugs and looking into every single agent."

Emma nods, biting her lip. She's actually relieved by his explanation. In a very rare move for her, she trusts these three people in only a few days' time. She doesn't doubt that Agent Nolan will discover what happened, whether there is a mole or some other error. Nor does she question whether Jones and Lucas will stay by their sides and shield them until then. It doesn't make the fear vanish, but it's soothing to know that it doesn't all rest on her shoulders alone. Needing to lighten the mood a bit, and maybe give them a sense of her trust, she tries for lightness as she looks at him. "So," she asks with casual curiosity, "can I know where we're going?"

Killian chuckles, the sound so open and exciting it warms her, even in the midst of this cold, uncertain night and the rainy darkness. "Aye, Lass, you may…as soon as Dave tells me. Right now, my only orders are to continue in this direction. He believes that nothing can be given away if no one knows anything to divulge. He may even change it several times yet. All I know is, he will tell us to stop when we're there."

"I guess that has to be good enough for me too then," she says with a sigh. She scrunches down into the seat a bit more comfortably then, eyeing him mischievously for a moment, a smirk on her face to let him know she's not as disgruntled as she tries to sound.

They carry on for some minutes in an easy, companionable silence, Emma attempting to focus her raging emotions, settle in, and stop herself from studying Killian's rugged profile. When Ruby speaks out of the quiet, Emma is almost startled at the sudden reminder of the brunette's presence. "If both of you are staying awake, I'm going to catch some shuteye. Kil, you'd better wake me the next time we stop to refuel," she warns with narrowed eyes. "No playing the chivalry card and going without sleep all night." She shakes her head and catches Emma's eye at this before snorting, "Stubborn man!" and then curling up against the right rear door, head pillowed on her jacket.

Silence reigns again in the vehicle's interior, and no one troubles it this time until Killian looks back again over his shoulder, as if making sure Ruby has now joined Henry in sleep. He then fully meets Emma's eyes across the console. "I have a confession to make, Swan," he offers at last. "This case…this time…it's not just my job. I have my own stake in seeing these animals brought to justice."

"I sense an intriguing story coming on," she urges, trying to keep the mood easy, but genuinely wanting him to continue, to understand the kindred ache of loneliness she glimpses in his eyes.

He allows one hand to loosen from its grip on the steering wheel and swipe back agitatedly through his mussed shock of dark hair. While earlier it had been Emma avoiding eye contact, now it is Jones who resolutely stares straight ahead, not letting his gaze stray from the road to her for even a second. He swallows hard, taking a few bracingly deep breaths before he ventures to continue. "I was born and raised in Ireland, near Donnegal," he starts out, sounding almost wistful. "Beautiful country there, and I loved every second of my childhood. At least…until the day my father left us… I was barely four – don't rightly remember him, to be honest. To this day, I've never seen him since, but me Mam, saints preserve her, she was wonderful. She could cook anything, and our little cottage always smelled of some delicious dish she was baking. She loved to sing and tell stories, and she was always taking in some hurt or hungry animal. She doted on my older brother and I like we were her treasures, and I couldn't have loved her more if she were an actual angel come to Earth. We didn't have much, but we got by, and our house was always full of laughter. I never doubted that I was loved…"

Killian's words pause and trail off at that; Emma can sense he is struggling to hold back a flood of emotion. She feels her own tears burning the back of her throat, picturing the type of childhood he has described and wondering what it would have been like to belong, to be wanted. She reaches over the empty space between them to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, to let him know she's there, whatever he has to say next.

"Things went on that way," he continues, voice going a bit raspy, but pressing on, "until I was about ten. Liam, my older brother, was several years my senior – 18 by then – and he went off to join the Navy. Mam dinna like it – worried so over where he was and if he were safe, if he were cold or hungry, almost constantly. She put on a brave face for me; I was missing Liam dreadfully. I had always idolized him, followed right along in his footsteps, and I was dead lost without him. Mam and I still had some lovely times together, but some nights, late, when I couldn't sleep, I could hear her crying, and I knew there was nothing I could do to make it better."

Emma merely nods, rubbing her hand over the fabric at his shoulder, wanting to soothe as she can already sense the story will only turn more tragic.

Killian's eyes finally meet hers for the briefest of moments, and the raw hurt in their depths nearly steals her breath. She finds herself wondering if he has ever shared this whole tale with anyone, and how long he has been lugging his past, alone. It is clear as day in those piercing blue eyes – that same expression which has so often haunted her from her own mirror – the lost sense having only herself in the world.

He sighs once more, looking away and regretfully picking up the thread of his story. "That winter was a horrible one. Ice and snow for months. We were stranded out in the country more than once – power went out a few times, food ran low a few others. Mam took sick, and even as the weather finally improved with the spring, she couldn't seem to shake her illness. I was only a child, naïve enough to believe her when she downplayed what ailed her. I knew something wasn't right, but dinna know enough to insist she see a doctor despite the cost, until it was too late. It turned into pneumonia, which then infected both her lungs, and she died before she saw my eleventh birthday."

Emma sucks in a sharp breath, despite having felt this is where the story would lead. The impact is no less devastating for having been anticipated. She tries to study Killian's profile, but he has turned his head away, as if to look out the driver's side window a moment. She gives him his privacy without comment, and only when he turns to face forward again does she pull his hand from the wheel and twine their fingers together, squeezing gently and adding on a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Jones."

"I was on my own for a time," he finally continues, voice rougher, huskier, giving a grateful nod for her gesture of support, but plowing on as if determined to have the whole story out. "Eventually the house was taken back by the bank. I was homeless, half-starved, and basically half-wild with grief and anger when Liam came home on leave and finally found me on the streets in the village. I don't know how he convinced his superiors to grant him the honorable discharge, I was both too ashamed and too ridiculously grateful to ask. He took what wages he'd earned to bring us to the U.S., find an apartment in Boston, and enroll me in proper school. He worked any and every job under the sun to support us, but he was always lecturing me to know what I wanted to be, that I had a chance to be anything here. I was halfway through university before he finally held a job he really loved. He was bartender at this Irish-themed dive, worked until the wee hours of the morning. But he loved his co-workers, the regulars, the place itself – said it reminded him of home…."

A muscle ticks in his stubbled jaw, and Emma notices suddenly how tightly Killian Jones is clenching it to keep himself under control. She rubs the pad of her thumb over his hand held tightly in hers and tries to wait patiently, though she is starting to dread what comes next. "One night, he slipped out into the back alley, not long after midnight, for a smoke on his break. He saw these three guys across the way, mostly hidden in the shadows, two of them beating on a third. Liam, heroic idiot that he was, started over, yelling out for them to stop, and he was already within range when they turned around with guns. The spineless coward he'd just saved made a run for it as soon as the two goons were distracted, Liam got the beating he'd interrupted, and his boss found him in the alley…broken ribs, nose, and collarbone, dislocated jaw, shattered kneecap, two gunshot wounds and massive blood loss. He'd slipped into a coma by the time I reached the hospital… H-he never woke up…died two days later."

Killian stops speaking abruptly, not visibly crying, but obviously unable to continue any further. Emma doesn't say anything, just keeps clinging to his hand, hoping he knows she feels his pain. A tear runs unchecked down her cheek at the tragedy of his story, at how he didn't even get to say goodbye to the last family he had. Suddenly, she finds herself wondering if life has been even worse for Killian that it has been for her. To have loved ones only for them to be ripped away so cruelly seems worse than having no one at all.

When he fails to continue, she stares at him until he has to eventually meet her eyes. "Those two in the alley… who – who did that to Liam…they worked for the Gold-Mills ring, didn't they?" she asks softly, already knowing the answer in her gut.

He nods curtly, eyes awash in pain, and then he squeezes her hand in return. He opens his mouth to say something more when his cell rings shrilly in the vehicle's silent interior. Pulling his gaze from hers with difficulty, he answers gruffly. "This is Jones!"

He nods, makes a few sounds of assent, gives his agreement to something, and then hangs up. Forcing a rather ragged smile, he sets the cell back in the console between them and takes her hand again. Lifting it to his lips, he kisses the back and offers a surprising next statement. "That isn't all, Swan…but it's enough of my sad tale for today. That was Dave, and we've nearly reached our destination."

Emma can't help watching him for a moment, wondering if she should press to see if he needs to say more, but then decides against it. "So, where's our new home?" she asks instead, trying to sound curious, and perhaps even a bit excited.

"Well, the next town we'll reach is it, Lass," he returns with matching enthusiasm. "Arcadia, Kansas."


	8. Chapter Seven: At Home in a One Horse Town

_ Chapter Seven: At Home in a One Horse Town _

Settling into Arcadia proves more difficult than even Emma imagined, and she had never expected it to be easy. Always before in her life, she had landed in full, bustling, nonstop city environments; standing on a back porch where she can't see another building, nothing but dry grassland stretching out to meet the horizon as far as her vision carries, is oddly lonesome – even for a perpetual loner. It is so quiet that Emma can hear the wind making low, mournful howls around the walls of the old farmhouse now meant to be their home. The boredom and the itch to run press in on her with shocking intensity. She had mistakenly thought that this type of aching wanderlust couldn't really exist outside the clichés of a country song, but apparently the wide open spaces are real, and they aren't made for someone like her, who needs to lose herself in a crowd to feel at home.

Yet after a month, when Henry – now Jamie Frost – has been registered for kindergarten and no further overt threats have come, she starts to feel a bit less antsy, a bit less ready to jump out of her own skin. Instead, Emma tries to find comfort in what is good. Henry loves his new surroundings, thriving in the open air and space to run. He has never needed much to entertain him, and he is as happy by nature as Emma has always wished she could be. Between his vivid imagination, innate curiosity, and the doting attention of Emma, Ruby, and Killian, Henry has truly begun to come out of his shell, easily sensing that he is the center of three peoples' interest and affection. It isn't at all unusual to find both he and Ruby running through the enormous back yard which stretches all the way down to a creek at the bottom of a gentle hill. Henry careens along, hands trailing through the tall grass, or simply lies down and rolls like a log down the incline as Ruby has shown him, both of them giggling all the way to the base of the slope.

In all honesty, Emma owes both of their assigned protectors more than she can express for how genuinely kind and nurturing they are with her son. It is their job to keep Emma and Henry safe, to give their lives if it came to that, but no one makes them listen to Henry's made-up stories or repeatedly read aloud to him from his favorite books. They aren't paid or awarded anything extra for Jones getting down on all fours on the living room floor and letting Henry ride on his back while he roars and snarls and she and Ruby run from them shrieking and cackling at the chase. If nothing else, despite all that has happened, and her floundering in their new surroundings, these two agents make it seem that she and Henry are just a little less alone in the world.

By the time October rolls around and the cool, re-invigorating crispness permeates the air, Emma is settling into this drowsy little place and the slower life she now leads, with her little boy safe and happy and her two new friends watching their backs. Their entire new identities still feel a bit unreal and the trial looms ahead at some indeterminate time in the future, but those start to be the only things keeping her off balance and unsettled. Emma is hesitant to admit – for fear of losing what she has – that the rest of her life is as good as it has ever been. They all find a sort of rhythm, a pattern emerging as they go, joining the swing of what normal people do with their days.

Emma still nearly cries and certainly pulls Henry closer, holds onto their hug a bit longer, some mornings when he and Ruby leave for school. She cannot help thinking how close they've come before, how precious her little boy is, and how quickly something good can plunge into a nightmare. Letting her son out of her sight seems to be the fastest way to bring the horror of Graham's murder and their harrowing escape from Vegas squealing back to the forefront of her mind. But Henry is growing up, no matter how much it doesn't seem possible, and she has to let that growth happen.

"Come on, Jamie," Ruby says affectionately, standing at the screen door and offering her hand to him once Emma lets go. The new name for her little boy – and the way he immediately responds, as if he's already cheerfully shed the old and taken on the new – does make one tear run down her face. She wipes it quickly, before her son can look back, and waves him off with the brightest smile she can muster.

By unspoken agreement, Ruby has become Henry's primary protector – always taking him to school in the morning and picking him up in the afternoon – and Killian Emma's. Though Emma would have once protested, she knows the arrangement suits everyone. Henry seems completely charmed by his lovely friend, and Ruby is no less adoring of her young charge. Emma had questioned Killian about it once, when they were all home for the evening and Henry continued to follow on Ruby's heels jabbering nonstop. She didn't want him to get on Ruby's nerves, and she wanted the young woman to have a break and time to decompress if needed. Killian had only grinned at her rakishly and dismissed her fears. "Can you not see that my partner is mad about your boy?" he had asked, his rich accent nudging at her good naturedly. "If he was not already glued to her side, Ruby might just follow him around. Ruby has always loved kids – she is a big kid herself."

After that, Emma had conceded that he was right and finally let herself stop worrying. Her new life as Margaret Frost is quieter than she is used to, but there is also more peace, more laughter, more warmth and companionship to this life. She sometimes misses calling Henry by name, or nearly forgets and signs 'Emma Swan' on documents before catching herself and remembering her new identity, but she'd much rather be safe with her son and see him content than hold onto a name and a more exciting lifestyle.

She had finally told Henry that Graham would never be coming to meet them here in their new home. Stumbling over her words, choking on tears, and not stating any of her explanation as clearly or calmly as she had rehearsed, Emma still managed to break the news to her little man. His tears over his adopted "papa" had raked over her insides, but at least it was finally out in the open. There had been no way she could let him keep asking when "Papa Graham" would be joining them, waiting for a reunion that would never come. She had kept it simple, but made it clear that Graham had been trying to take care of them and do the right thing. The man that Henry had grown so attached to did not want to leave them, but some bad men had hurt him and he died. For several days afterwards, Emma had watched her son for signs that he was confused or wasn't handling the loss, but though he was sad, he seemed to bounce back remarkably well. Better than she had herself. Emma's heart had truly swelled when she'd tucked him in a few nights later and her baby boy had caught her hand before she could leave. "Mama," he whispered. "I still love Papa Graham, even if he's not here. If you're sad about it too, I'll help you 'member him…"

Blinking back quick tears, she had smiled shakily and pulled him into a tight, grateful hug. "Thank you, Buddy. I'd like that," had been the only response she could manage.

Henry had seemed appeased after that, and soon he had closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

There are certainly still times when she misses Graham with an ache in her chest that she tries to dull in other pursuits, choosing new hobbies for herself anytime she needs distraction. It does not do for her to dwell on the first man who had ever seemed ready to stay, to hold onto her despite her flaws and hang-ups, because all she can remember now is the end. He was taken from her brutally instead of leaving, but the end result, of her left alone once more, is the same.

When she jolts awake in the wee hours, from some nightmare of the life leaving Graham's eyes, or of someone snatching Henry from her, or aiming a gun at her little boy instead, Emma sits gasping for air, staring into the dark, afraid to go back to sleep. Those nights and early mornings, she finds herself wrapping a comforter around her body and padding barefoot over the wood floors of the drafty old farmhouse, down the stairs to the comfortable den in the place's back corner.

She doesn't know how the man manages it, but more often than not, she finds Killian Jones there, awake as well, almost as if he knows she needs the company and has been waiting on her arrival. The first time she ran into him on such a sleepless night, she had been embarrassed to intrude and tried to sneak away unnoticed. However, he had already seen her and would have none of it. Beckoning her over, he had insisted she stay. "We might as well be sleepless together," had been his reasoning. They'd talked until she wakened the next morning to the sunrise peeking over the horizon and light trickling through the window blinds, her head pillowed on Killian's shoulder where she must have leaned against him and finally gone back to sleep.

Eventually, her natural guardedness was completely worn away. The more she gets to know Agent Killian Jones, the more Emma believes he knows exactly how she feels and why she is the way she is. Maybe it's the loss of his brother and the fact that he too has no family left. Maybe it's the sad, distant look that takes over his devastating blue gaze at times, as if he is seeing some place or people long gone and far away. She knows it well, knows her eyes often take on that expression too – the look of an orphan.

Suffice it to say, life is not perfect. There are still moments of fear and doubt. There are times when Emma can be shopping at the local grocery with the others, cart stopped to peruse the different varieties of an item, when someone comes up the aisle quickly from behind and her breath stalls, waiting for a rough hand to grab her, fearing the familiar voice of one of Spencer's men telling her she has been found, her luck has run out.

However, most days begin to look like some sort of country idyll, the type of life she read about in Tom Sawyer or Anne of Green Gables when Emma was a kid herself. Her son is living just the sort of life she would have wished for him; having never experienced anything like it herself, she wouldn't have even known what it looked like if they weren't here now. It startles Emma completely the day she realizes that, strange and improbable as it might be, she has found a family.

At first laughingly and mostly to indulge Ruby, Emma begins to go to the local animal shelter to volunteer with the younger agent. They both, and Henry too, find it fun as well as fulfilling and begin to go every Saturday, bathing and walking the stray dogs there. When all of them leave for the day, it gives Killian a catch for some quiet, to read or simply relax, as well as await Agent Nolan's weekly call to check in and apprise his field agents of any developments in the case.

The two women and little boy generally come tromping back into the farmhouse dirty and wet, after wrestling muddy dogs, hoses, and buckets of soapy water for an entire afternoon. Emma's cheeks usually ache from smiling and laughing so much and spending the whole way home trying to convince Henry why they can't take every dog in the place home with them – getting very minimal support from Ruby on the subject. Yet, when they walk through the door, Killian's eyes light up at the sight of them, in a way that Emma can't help but believe would not be much different even if they really were his beloved family coming home to him for the night. She doesn't dare speak a word out loud, doesn't even dare acknowledge she is thinking like this to herself, but Emma treasures that look and watches for it to cross his face, her insides warming whenever it does.

She is contemplating adopting one of the shelter dogs for Henry's birthday as a surprise present – but she doesn't want to let Ruby in on the secret just yet. Henry's mid-November birthday is still more than a month away, and though Ruby may be an adept FBI agent, she is a horrible secret keeper and has a surprisingly terrible poker face in everyday life. She is likely to let the surprise slip to Henry too soon in her excitement. Apparently, the Lucas family had owned a whole pack of dogs when Ruby was young, growing up on a working dude ranch in Wyoming. She jokes sometimes that she's half mutt herself, and though she only mentioned it once, Emma knows the younger woman misses her own rescued shepherd mix back in Boston. Ruby had said that her landlady accepted that she simply "travels a lot for her job" and allows the neighbor an extra key to care for Pete when his mistress is away.

Emma had run it all by Killian though, during their most recent late night talk. Unless they were suddenly called back in because the trial was starting, which they had no sign was occurring in the near future, he saw no harm in it. The next time they were at the shelter, Emma had snuck a moment to speak to the woman in charge and begun to fill out the necessary paperwork. The puppy would have his shots and be ready to go in time for Henry's birthday.

The days have truly begun to blend together in a pleasant autumn haze. For the first time, as November arrives, Emma's mind turns to Thanksgiving with anticipation. Usually she focuses her energy on Henry's birthday until the holiday that celebrates gratitude, family, and a place to belong has passed for another year. This year, she has people to observe the occasion with and be thankful for. Emma finds herself wanting to put together a Thanksgiving meal with all the trimmings for her little boy and the two people who have given up so much for her and Henry's sake – something she has never done, not even with Graham. The two of them, and Henry, had often spent the day together, but never treated it that differently from any other day, apart from perhaps having turkey sandwiches and slices of pumpkin pie for supper.

If she's honest with herself, Emma knows she is not much of a cook; she hardly knows where to start or if she will make anything more than a mess, but Emma vows that she is going to attempt a true Thanksgiving feast. She'll find recipes, try them out, and master one thing at a time until she can surprise them all with a perfect, traditional meal. She's not sure what has come over her, or where this giddy anticipation has come from, knows it's nothing like her usual demeanor, but she simply cannot wait to see their faces on Thanksgiving Day.

All of that is pushed to the back burner the following Saturday when she, Ruby, and Henry return from the shelter. Killian meets them on the porch, his face stark, somber, and completely devoid of the look she has come to wait for and love upon their return.

To his credit, Killian doesn't keep them in the dark. Meeting Emma and Ruby's questioning glances, Killian waits only until Henry has run past him into the house with a quick, happy greeting, before returning his gaze to them and relaying what he has learned. "David called. We'll have to go back to Boston before Thanksgiving. They need time to find us a safe house there, for you to prep with the attorneys, before the trial begins at the start of December. Apparently a rush was put on it. Rumor has it Gold might have been getting suspicious; no one wanted to chance him running or being able to destroy evidence that could be used against him."

Ruby merely nods, snapping back into laser focus and asking all the right questions. Emma can only stand there between the two of them, listening and nodding along, wondering how – though she has known this was coming – it can feel like the whole world has shifted under her feet once again.


	9. Chapter Eight: Confidences in the Dark

_ Chapter Eight: Confidences in the Darkness _

Killian Jones sits awake long into the night, brooding over his thoughts hours after the others have gone upstairs to bed. He hates the way his announcement had ruined Emma and Ruby's ease and joyous mood when they first returned home. Despite the fact that he has no desire to be anything but open with them, he couldn't have put off the news anyway. Both his partner and the woman they are meant to be guarding deserve to be made aware when anything about their situation changes; all of this is for Emma's protection after all. Still, that doesn't make being the bearer of unwelcome news any more pleasant.

Sighing, Killian stares darkly into the crackling flames of the den's fireplace, hoping that watching the blaze will soothe his frazzled nerves and ease frustration in a way that late night infomercials and syndicated sitcoms never can. Though he values a clear head and alert reflexes at all times, the very nature of what he is called to do depending on it, the clock has long since inched past one a.m. as he sits mulling over the day's events, the tumbler held in his hand holds more rum than he generally allows himself for a rare nightcap. He nurses the warm liquor, savoring its spiced taste, enjoying the burn of each leisurely swallow, and Killian cannot help wishing that it will eventually dull the gnawing guilt and anger churning in his gut and help ease him to sleep. Though that is quite possibly a pipe dream; he know the feeling well enough to sense a sleepless night of tossing, turning, and vague nightmares laced with regret if he does manage to doze, ahead of him.

The agent has just pulled his glass from his lips once more, leaned forward to place the tumbler on the coffee table in front of him, and sunk back into the couch cushions wearily, swiping a hand haphazardly back through his already-mussed dark hair, when he hears the pad of bare feet on the hardwood floor behind him. Hanging his head, a bit embarrassed but chuckling at his odd sort of luck all the same, that she has managed to find him in such a low moment of self-doubt, Killian knows who has joined him without needing confirmation. Still, he turns to see Emma Swan standing framed in the entryway of the den, an almost ethereal angel vision in the dim light, backlit only by the gentle glow of the nightlight plugged into the hall socket for when Henry might need it, her blonde hair practically luminescent and taking his breath away.

"Room for another on your couch?" she asks in soft greeting, pausing only a moment until he nods, and then crossing the room to settle beside him on the couch.

"Aye," Killian adds hoarsely, giving his charge, the woman he has come to see as a friend and confidant as well as the one he's meant to protect, a tiny half-smile of welcome. The situation is not suddenly better, but he doesn't want to make her feel unwelcome, nor do anything to shatter this quiet time of calm companionship he has come to savor when she joins him here like this in the middle of the night. If he were free to act on his feelings, if her safety and his duty were not involved, Killian knows that his feelings went beyond even friendly affection long ago, sometime before he realized it. Yet, the possible repercussions are too steep; he knows he will not say or do anything about the attraction and longing Emma brings out in him, in a degree he has not experienced for a long, long time.

She burrows into the couch, settling cozily, and the silence between them stretches, peaceful and familiar. It looks as though this will be another night like the many they have spent together before, easing each other through sleeplessness, worry, and the impending upset of everything changing again soon.

After a time, Killian breaks the quiet, asking if Emma wants to watch a movie. They have been slowly making their way through the old classics during their late nights, from  _ My Fair Lady _ to  _ Barefoot in the Park _ , and he suggests they start the one queued up next. Emma giggles, playful teasing in her eyes, saying she'd prefer mindless drivel tonight. Soon they're fighting over the remote, with hissed arguments and silent scuffling on the couch so as not to wake Ruby and Henry. She grabs onto his arm and in the process accidentally pulls back the sleeve of his flannel button down, exposing the inside of his right forearm. There, emblazoned permanently, is a picture of a heart with some sort of knife or dagger through it, a woman's name etched there as well.

She isn't quite sure why, but Emma's breath catches in surprise, just as Killian hurries to pull the sleeve back over the inked memorial. The words are out before she can stop herself, even though he clearly wishes to avoid the subject. "Who's Milah?" she breathes, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Someone from long ago," Killian answers tightly, his voice clipped and expression closed. He cannot keep his gaze even with hers, no matter how hard he tries, and he glances down instead at his own tightly clenched fingers.

It is clear that Emma wants to bite off her own tongue; Killian can see the regret in her expression before she is the one to glance away and let him off the hook. He knows without her speaking that Emma didn't mean to pry, already wishes she hadn't asked, and he can see from the changes flitting rapidly across her face that she is already sifting through her mind, looking for something to fix the awkward silence hanging between them. The moment those words comes to her is clear in the way her eyes widen, then she squares her shoulders determinedly and swallows hard, clearly resolute on putting things right. Tentatively, she holds her own arm out to him, her inner wrist turned up for his perusal, bearing her own small tattoo, usually covered by her watch.

It draws Killian's attention, just as she had hoped it would. Her breath catches raggedly; Emma forces herself to take his hand and wordlessly bring it up to trace over the inked-on flower and feel the raised scar tissue hidden by the simple design. Forcing herself to keep still as his fingers ghost lightly over the roughly healed flesh, she seems to expect the question in his eyes when he raises them to hers.

Wetting her lips, Emma nervously offers one of the many scars on her psyche up to him willingly. "I was sixteen, in the last foster home I stayed at, before I left the system. The wife of the family was an ICU nurse, gone all the time, exhausted and sleeping when she was there. We all had chores to help her out, and my job was to clear the table and do the dishes…"

She gathers another shaky breath as he lets his roughened fingertips trace the outline of the tattooed flower petals, trying to soothe the pain he already senses in her tale. She swallows hard and continues. "The husband was obviously resentful of his wife's exhaustion and busyness. I could feel his eyes on me, and it made my skin crawl, but it had never gone any further than that, so I just tried to ignore it. This one night though… he was on his third beer by the time everyone else left the table. I …I went to get his plate, to take it to the sink, and he grabbed my wrist. The way he ran his fingers up my arm, the look in his eyes…I knew where things were headed. He- he tried to pull me into his lap, and – and – I must have panicked, shoved away from him too hard. He still had that grip on my wrist…and he held his lit cigarette right there…before he backhanded me. When I came to… I was still lying on the kitchen floor. That was the night I finally ran away and left the system for good." She sniffs back the residual tears, forcing her strong determination back into her expression. "It never healed quite right," she shrugs, "so I got the daisy to cover it. I didn't want to see it anymore."

Killian holds himself silent several long, aching moments, taking the story in, sympathetic hurt in his eyes for her, forcing himself to swallow the anger that swells within him at the thought of anyone hurting her so callously. "Oh Swan," he whispers at last and then pulls her into the cradle of his arms, not questioning why with him she will allow herself the weakness, where she will usually do anything to appear strong. He has no way of knowing that the way he says her name with such aching kindness gives her back a piece of her real self, breaking the dam she usually holds her emotions behind. Soon, Emma is sobbing it all out, coming apart and shaking in his arms. Though she loves the way he has taken to calling her "Maggie" or "Mags" or "Magpie" as sweet nicknames for her new identity, the battering ram is hearing her true name in that lilting brogue, as if it matters and is infinitely precious.

Killian doesn't rush her, doesn't hurry her grief; he simply shelters her in the storm that has engulfed her, stroking a soothing hand repeatedly through the shortened strands of her hair. He murmurs low, gravelly words of comfort at her ear and rocks them carefully from side to side, until Emma is able to feel the tumult inside of her easing, the worst of it finally past.

She sighs and lets herself sink into his embrace as Killian places his thumb and forefinger beneath her chin, tipping her head up to meet his eyes. Then, slowly, he draws his sleeve back, letting his own tattoo show once more and bringing her hand forward, entwined with his, so that she can touch his marked skin. His tone sounds rough and hoarse when he begins, and Emma knows that his story – much like her own – has not been told before. "Milah was my fiancé," he begins, searching her expression before pressing on. "We met not long after I lost Liam, and it took almost no time before she was my whole world. She was an artist – very gifted – and so charming and impetuous; I couldn't wait to make her my wife and build a home for her, start a family, all of it. Unfortunately, I was also still tracking the men who attacked my brother, determined to make them pay and avenge his death. Eventually, I found out that they had been connected to the Gold-Mills ring. I was part of the FBI by then, which gave me the resources to continue my search with more success. But …as I got closer…I became known to them as well. I didn't heed the warnings I received to back off…and Milah paid the price. She lost her life because of my mistake. At least it was quick, painless, not like what Liam suffered… Their grievance was not with her. She was an innocent pawn...meant to serve as a caution to me… "

When his words run out, Killian's face contorts and his head bows, forehead resting against Emma's shoulder as he draws several shuddering breaths. When she touches his cheek and urges him to meet her eyes, as he had done for her, his are glassy with unshed tears. She tries to give him the best smile she can muster, aching for the pain and loss he has suffered. His voice is harsh and raw when he finally pushes words out again, but he adds, "These monsters have taken the two people I loved most in the world from me. They won't hurt you or Henry. I won't let them… I'd die first," he vows finally upon regaining his voice.

Emma's breath catches in her lungs, her body freezing at his words. She shakes her head vehemently, feeling more tears start that she doesn't want to shed. "Don't say that," she croaks. "Please. I don't want anyone else I – I care about dying. Please."

He reaches out a steadying hand to brush chestnut brown hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear. His eyes are apologetic, but firm too. "I'm sorry, but it can't be helped, Darling. I meant what I said."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~00000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that night, there is a closeness between Killian and Emma. It had been building, steady if slow, for some time, but the bond forged when they finally share some of their deepest secrets and scars cements them together somehow. Their bond is more than friendship, balancing on the edge of more than either of them can admit to or afford to risk. They don't avoid each other, but the knowledge is unspoken; both aware it's there as they go about their day. Each drawing strength from the other's presence and trying not to dwell on the fact that the other's support is only with them for a limited time, within the very nature of their acquaintance is a time limit. As the days tick by, drawing them closer to heading back for the trial, neither want to acknowledge how hard it will be when they have to part ways, or just why that is so.

Even though they will not have the huge Thanksgiving she had begun to plan, Emma is still trying her hand at cooking. There are a few weeks left before they must pack up for Boston, and she hasn't given up hope that she will concoct something promisingly edible by then. She has made several only moderately successful attempts at meals for the four of them, and so her efforts today are concentrated on simple cookies. She is just thinking that the first batch should be ready to come out of the oven when the smoke alarm begins blaring incessantly.

Coughing as she opens the oven door to be bombarded with smoke that stings her eyes and the smell of hopelessly burnt dough, Emma laughs at her own utter kitchen ineptitude, especially when Killian comes running from where he has been reading out on the porch, a look of half-concern and half mocking amusement on his face. "Trying to burn the place down, Magpie?" he asks with playful derision and a quirk of his brow. She notices he uses that moniker most, and wonders with some humor if it's because it is also a bird, like the "Swan" nickname he had preferred to call her before the new identities.

"Only trying to make cookies and appease your rampant sweet tooth," she sasses right back with a purposefully over-bright smile. "You're still welcome to eat one and make yourself sick," she adds, holding out a blackened excuse for a sugar cookie.

"Oi, Lass, you wound me! Trying to poison your faithful protector!"

She actually giggles, not knowing when the youthful sound she never had much chance to indulge has become normal for her in his presence. Emma is still chuckling at his reaction and her own baking disaster as she turns to dump the pan full of burnt morsels in the kitchen trash and hears Killian's phone go off.

His posture immediately stiffens in concern, his face paling and voice going deadly serious. "Are you sure?" he asks, voice taut and low, then, "We'll meet you."

He hangs up and turns to Emma, her lighthearted humor forgotten as ice runs through her veins at the look on his face. He meets her eyes steadily; remorse and dread are already writ across his rugged features, even before he finally speaks. "That was Ruby… Henry didn't meet her at their spot when school let out. She's still looking, but there's no sign of him anywhere."


	10. Chapter Nine: Break Down Here

_ Chapter Nine: Break Down Here _

Emma's heart is beating so wildly, so violently, that it aches in her chest, as if attempting to force its way out of her body. Her hands shake visibly where she rests them clenched on her thighs, forcing herself not to wring them helplessly or attempt to tear apart Jones's government-issue SUV with her bare hands. After all they have given up, after they have changed their entire lives, their very beings…for what?! Her panic and frustration are nearly spilling over and streaming out in a horrified, angry scream, when Killian reaches across the console, eyes focused resolutely on the highway as he speeds along, to thread his fingers with hers and grip her hand tightly.

"It must be a mistake," he says firmly, as if he will not allow himself, or her, to entertain any other possibility. "We’ll find him." Emma can't help thinking they have both been remiss not to expect some horrible action from Gold's organization. Should she as a mother have been more careful, kept Henry at home and never let him out of her sight? With the trial moved up, and the suspicions that Gold was going underground, it only made sense that the shadowy menace would strike back. But why toward Henry? Why not her? She was the one who was a witness and would be testifying against them. Unless – and they must, she realizes – Gold and his associates know that Henry is the best way to hurt her, to make her back down. Killian is still urging her to stay calm until they arrive and have all the facts. With Ruby right there any time Henry was not safe in his public classroom and with no signs of any suspicious activity, the idea that he could have been taken is highly improbable. Ruby must have found him by now, and everything will be fine.

They hurtle forward, already halfway into town and the school, where they have agreed to meet Ruby. Emma wants to tell Killian to hurry and yell at him to slow down before they crash at the same time; in either case, the fear and panic continue to ratchet higher and higher within her, twisting her gut and raising bile in her throat. Emma barely realizes she is still clutching Jones's hand tightly, unwilling to let go of her one stabilizing lifeline, attempting to make herself believe his words.

Almost before she realizes it in her fraught, hazy state, they pull into the parking lot, and Killian gets out. Emma snaps from her daze, breathing heavily and eyes darting back into focus, she jerks forward to leave her seat. He is already beside her, opening her door and helping her out with his hand at her elbow as she stumbles forward almost blindly. Then they are moving toward the front entrance where they can see Ruby pacing, giving Emma an eerie sense of déjà vu to how she must have looked months ago as she prepared to flee Vegas with Henry, not knowing what to do or where to go.

Killian's hand at the small of her back is warm and bolstering as Ruby sees them and immediately rushes to Emma, apologizing and swearing that she did nothing different or out of the ordinary. Emma nods her understanding numbly, allowing the younger woman's hug, knowing it isn't her fault. Ruby, for all her youth, exuberance, and flashy looks, is an excellent agent and cares for Henry deeply. She would give her life for Emma's son and cannot possibly have done anything that allowed this turn of events.

Finally, Killian reaches over and pats Ruby's arm, easing her gently but firmly back from Emma. "Ease up on our Maggie, alright partner?" he says as lightly as he can, though his voice is a bit rough with the strain of sounding calm and radiating confidence. "We know it isn't your fault. Jamie will turn up. There's an explanation for this, alright?" He uses their new identities as easily as second nature, even though they appear to be alone, and it brings Emma back to herself in a strange way. This is her situation now, and she has to deal with it. Her baby needs her.

Once Ruby nods her assent to Killian's words, they make a plan to go into the school building, sweep all the rooms and hallways one last time, just in case Henry was somehow missed in Ruby's previous searches. Emma wants to believe this won't all be for nothing, but she already fears they will soon be calling the police, starting an Amber Alert, and completely blowing their cover. It has somehow failed to keep Henry safe anyway. But as they start to move forward, the entry doors burst open, and a small, fast moving body flies into her at top speed.

"Mama!" Henry's beloved, happy voice calls out, and Emma sees her little boy clearly for only a second before he crashes into her, brown eyes alight and toothy grin wide, followed by a dark-haired woman who looks strangely familiar.

Letting out a cry, she falls to her knees to wrap Henry up completely in her arms. For a moment, all Emma can focus on is holding Henry to herself, probably squeezing too tightly, but so relieved she's shaking. Her heart finally begins to settle in her chest cavity and beat regularly once again. She runs still-trembling fingers across his face and through his silky, dark hair. More than anything, Emma is simply grateful that he is clearly unharmed and not aware anything has been wrong. When she can finally look away from her little boy, she spares a glance for the woman standing awkwardly just beyond their little group.

Emma is about to give this stranger a piece of her mind and find out what she thought she was doing, when she gets a good look at the woman's face and freezes. Eyes narrowing, Emma tries to focus and make sure, but the longer she tries, the more there can be no doubt. This is the woman from her dream in the Vegas motel; the one who had warned her to move just in time to save her own and Henry's lives.

Emma doesn't understand what is going on, and for a moment the voices around her start echoing, retreating as though in a long tunnel. The others may be speaking to her, but their words blend into background noise, none of them quite reaching the surface. She blinks owlishly, trying to ground herself and get past the shock, clutching Henry as an anchor. Oddly, this stranger is the one who notices first and steps forward.

"Are you okay, Ms. Frost?" the dark headed woman asks gently, her voice so sweet and concerned that Emma feels her anger draining away. The woman's care is genuine and soothing, and something in it strikes Emma as almost maternal. The kind, gentle eyes in the pale, rounded face, the short, pixie cut black hair, and her reaching out sincerely, makes Emma wince with covered-over longing for the mother she never had. She almost blurts out her realization before managing to bite her lip and keep her mouth shut, knowing how crazy it will sound. Still, despite the impossibility, Emma knows her recognition of the other woman is correct.

She takes in a couple of deep, calming breaths before finally answering with a tentative smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine," she replies, if a bit breathily. "I just – well – you looked awfully familiar for a minute." She tries smoothing back her hair, mussed from how she has been dragging her hands through it for the past hour. Drawing in a steadying breath, she asks, in a more normal tone. "Are you the one who found Jamie?"

The petite brunette steps forward with a gentle smile, blushing prettily. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say that. In all honesty, I didn't realize anyone thought he was lost at first." She comes even closer, tentatively, reaching out to clasp one of Emma's hands in hers. "I'm so sorry for the fright we must have given you. He was safe with me the entire time."

Emma wants to jerk her hand from the other woman's hopeful grasp at the admission, wants to ask how she could have been so careless and what she was thinking. Yet, strangely, she is comforted by the simple contact and finds the words she intends to speak stuck in her throat.

Jones takes care of it for her, forceful, curt, and a good deal more composed than she is at present. "Maybe you should start from the beginning and explain to us what did happen," he suggests, not angrily, but with enough quiet authority to make it clear he means business.

"Of course, Agent," she answers, looking a bit flustered and pulling her own hand back from Emma's to wrap her arms around herself protectively. It seems quite clear that there is more going on here than a simple parental overreaction about a child not being where he was supposed to be or coming to a meeting place late. To the woman's credit though, she meets their eyes squarely and tells her side without a bit of hesitation. "It truly was an honest misunderstanding. Jamie stayed after school with a friend. They wanted to keep looking at some of my pictures books, so I took them with me – I run a study table in the school library after classes dismiss. I thought that they both had permission and would ride home together later. That sort of thing is usually pre-arranged before they ever come to me. It was only when Jamie's friend's mother came to pick him up and she didn't have any plans to take Jamie as well that I knew someone needed to be contacted. If we had been in my room, I would have been notified you were looking for him sooner, or have run into your partner myself, I'm sure. But Jamie was safe the whole time, and perfectly content, though I am sorry you didn't know, and for the worry it caused."

"In the future, Ms…"

"Blanchard," Jamie's teacher supplies quickly, blinking rapidly at the tone of his voice and her hands fluttering anxiously at her sides. “Miss, actually, Mary Blanchard.”

"Right," Killian speaks with a clipped tone, "in the future, you might want to make sure of arrangements before letting children deviate from their approved travel plans. I was under the impression schools had policies about such things. Do they not?"

"Of- of course," the woman stammers, now looking truly upset and embarrassed as well as politely apologetic.

Emma can't help feeling a bit sorry for her and reaching out to lay a hand on Killian's forearm, pulling him back. When he turns his head to look at her questioningly, Emma shakes hers gently. She is wondering more and more all the time if her intrepid and precocious little boy has been the real cause of the afternoon's confusion – not understanding the panic he would cause.

Killian merely nods his acceptance, saying no more and taking a step back. Ruby had moved aside while Killian was speaking with Henry's teacher, visibly shaken enough herself at what could have been to need a minute. She has been on the phone during the last of the exchange; Emma assumes letting Agent Nolan know that Henry is alright. Emma's assumption is confirmed when Ruby returns to them and, in a surprising move, hands the phone to Miss Blanchard. "Come with me for a moment. My supervisor needs to speak to you."

Miss Blanchard throws one last, quick look back over her shoulder at Emma, giving her an almost wistful smile, then follows Ruby a few feet away quizzically.

Emma smiles back hesitantly, certain now that the other woman had meant well, had been taking good care of her little boy – despite the resulting chaos – and that Henry must really like her if he had devised a plan to stay at school in her company a bit longer. It did no good to continue berating Miss Blanchard. There was no reason the other woman could have known how promptly and severely they would react to Henry's little runaround. Plus, no matter how unreal and impossible it might seem, Emma keeps remembering the dream and feeling inexplicably grateful to her.

Looking at Killian, she shrugs. "Thank you for being so quick to protect my baby, Jones," she says soothingly. "I didn't mean to seem ungrateful, but this obviously wasn't his poor teacher's fault. I'm going to give him a clear talking to while you guys finish straightening things out. He's the one that caused this scare by not showing up to meet Ruby."

He seems to agree, the jaw that has been clenched tightly since they arrived at the school, finally relaxing as he moves over to join Ruby and Henry's teacher. Emma feels the adrenaline draining from her quickly now that the fear is past, leaving her slack, dazed, and exhausted. She is more than happy to relinquish all control of the matter to their protectors, to let Killian and Ruby handle sorting out the mess, and simply wait on them to go home. However, she needs to make sure Henry understands what happened this afternoon first.

Walking him to the SUV, Emma puts Henry in the seat and begins explaining to him why he can't ever pull something like this again. She hugs him to her, smoothes a hand through his hair gently, and assures him of how much she loves him, but she also doesn't hesitate to lecture him on just how wrong and dangerous his actions were. He needs to understand that he could have been hurt – or taken – and that none of them would have known where he was to help.

Henry looks so sorry she almost regrets her fervor, holding onto her hand tightly and whispering, "I didn't mean to scare you, Mama," in a quavering voice. His big, brown eyes nearly spill over with tears when she tells him how frantic Ruby had been and that his favorite agent had blamed herself when she went to pick him up from school and he was nowhere to be seen.

Emma can tell that her little boy wants to go to his new best friend, hug her and make sure she isn't angry with him that very second. She holds him back for the moment though, wanting it to wait until the four of them are alone. In the meantime, she assures Henry that they all forgive him, they still love him, but they need him to be more aware and safe in the future. None of them want to lose him or see him get hurt.

Miss Blanchard walks toward them at last, just as Emma lapses into silence. Her cheeks are oddly pink, a tiny smile just barely tilting the corners of her lips up, as she puts her jacket back on, slings her purse over her shoulder, and moves to walk past on the way to her car. She pauses near Emma and Henry. Giving her student a pat on the shoulder, she says, "See you on Monday, Jamie?" in a hopeful tone, her eyes sliding over to look at Emma, obviously seeking agreement.

Emma nods. "I'd rather not be frightened like that again anytime soon, but it was nice to meet you. This wasn't your fault, and I appreciate that Jamie was safe and happy with you."

The other woman bobs her head in a quick motion of acceptance then moves off, leaving mother and son to wait again.

Henry sits still, not speaking a word or moving a muscle once his teacher is gone. For a child as inquisitive and active as Henry normally is, it's something of a shock to Emma, and shows just how remorseful he truly is. She hopes she hasn't poured on the guilt too thickly, or scared him more than necessary. Henry so rarely does anything which truly merits punishment, and so she often questions and second guesses herself when such discipline is necessary. She'd had no loving parents of her own to offer gentle correction when she was growing up, whom she could model herself after. Certainly, she had been punished and reprimanded in various ways and to differing degrees of severity in her numerous foster homes, but that only causes a shudder to run through her at the thought of Henry being treated similarly.

Emma is still lost in thought, her hand resting on Henry's knee, needing the contact with him, thumb rubbing almost unconsciously over his denim-clad leg, Henry's chubby hand resting on top of hers, when Ruby and Killian rejoin them. For a moment, Emma is puzzled by how much lighter the two agents seem as well, almost like they have just witnessed something funny that she has missed, but she pushes it aside to ask about later, for the moment simply ready to go home and put the last horrible hour behind them for good.

"Ready to head out, Lass?" Killian asks her, studying her face with gentle concern as he and Ruby come to stand before them.

Emma merely nods her agreement, but seeing Ruby, Henry stretches his arms out to her desperately, eyes begging Agent Lucas to come close enough for him to reach. Ruby does so without hesitation, and Henry rests his head on her shoulder, already telling her how sorry he is, and asking if she's mad and if they are still friends.

Ruby's tense expression and tired eyes light up once more with their usual vibrancy as she squeezes Henry tightly, wrapping him in a hug that he enthusiastically returns. The young woman and little boy exchange a few soft words that Emma can't hear before Ruby pulls back again. They look to Killian and Emma, ready to go. Killian wraps an arm around Emma's waist, offering support as though he can sense just how much her strength is truly flagging, and steers her to the passenger seat. Ruby moves to her own vehicle, and then they are on the way home.

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By the time they reach the old farmhouse – after stopping at a KFC for a belated supper, knowing no one wants to cook and clean up after the rollercoaster they've been on – Henry is already asleep, and Emma finds her own eyes terribly heavy-lidded as well. She watches Killian lift Henry easily from the vehicle and carry her baby upstairs to his room. When the agent tenderly turns down the blankets and puts him to bed, a strange twisting in her gut makes her realize the longing and want it kindles. She excuses herself to her own room and bed before she can do or say something foolish while her defenses are down. Emma remembers vividly how, when she had first met Graham, her heart had melted at seeing him play with Henry, how the first cracks in her walls had been made after seeing Graham care for her boy, listen to him, encourage him, and treat him like his own. Something similar stirs within her at the sight of Jones brushing Henry's bangs off his forehead and tucking the blanket up under his chin. Fleeing before that gets any further is imperative. She should know better than to let someone she could so easily lose in close enough to affect her.

Killian watches Emma go, knowing she is troubled, seeing something he cannot quite read in her lovely green eyes. As her bedroom door closes softly behind her, he takes a step forward, meaning to follow and find out if he can help, but then thinks better of intruding on what little privacy she has left and retreats back down the stairs.

A couple of hours later, as he heads to his own room to retire, Killian cannot stop himself from checking on his brave lass, shaking his head at his own audacity, even as he knocks on her door, both in interfering and in thinking of her as 'his lass' in the first place. He raps on the wooden surface softly with his knuckles and awaits a reply, but when he gets no answer, he tries the door, and it swings inward to admit him.

The lights are off, and Killian almost turns to leave, thinking Emma must be asleep. Then, he hears an odd noise and notices light shining out from under the door of the adjoining bathroom. Stepping closer, Killian hears the sounds again, grimly recognizing them for the definite signs of someone getting sick to her stomach.

  
Opening the bathroom door, he is struck still for a moment, wincing in sympathy and worried for her as he finds Emma sprawled on the tile floor, barely holding herself over the bowl of the toilet, limbs trembling with the effort it takes her to do so. She barely seems aware of his presence at first, and Killian crouches next to her, gathering her hair and pushing it back from her flushed, sweaty face. He had known something was upsetting her, that she was more shaken from the day's trauma than she let on, but he realizes as he sees the bottle of rum they had opened the night they watched  _ Casablanca _ , which had been no more than half gone last he saw it, nearly empty on the floor. She has clearly snuck it from the cabinet and hidden in here trying to drown her fears alone rather than let herself admit to needing comfort, and the realization twists in his gut sickeningly as he scoots near enough to touch her clammy skin. Was there anything he could do to make this better? Or would the mere fact of his presence in her life at all only continue to make it worse? "Oh Swan," he murmurs, easing her limp frame to his side where she can slump against him weakly and stay upright. "What have you done to yourself?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Okay, so a couple little author's notes: For one, things will get a bit more emotionally intense next chapter after what I hope has been a nice build-up. So you have that to look forward to. Beyond there, things are going to get more intense plot-wise too.
> 
> Also, I just want to acknowledge that I realize it might be a bit farfetched for them not to have immediately notified the police/authorities when Ruby couldn't find Henry at the school, but if they had gotten all the other law enforcement people involved, and then it had been nothing, their identities, cover, etc. would have been blown and they would have had to move them again, even before they went back to Boston and risked them being in even more danger. I never had any intention of Henry actually being kidnapped or hurt by the bad guys. (I couldn't do that to a little kid!) Plus, I'm going with the theory that Killian truly believed there had to be some mistake and Henry was at the school somewhere.
> 
> Oh! And one more thing.. if you're wondering, there is a reason Henry's teacher seemed happier and was blushing when Emma saw her last, but you'll have to stick around to see how that plays out! ;)


	11. Chapter Ten: In the Light of Day

_ Chapter Ten: In the Light of Day _

It doesn't take Killian Jones long to note enough details of the room to understand what has happened. Emma is still clad in her skin-tight jeans, which he has to admit he has appreciated on more than one occasion. However, she must have begun to ready herself for bed, as she is also wearing a thin camisole tank and a sort of silky kimono-type robe. Once he has her supported, mostly sitting upright against his side, Killian glimpses the real culprits for the state he has found her in.

Scattered across the floor on her other side are pictures of Henry, one also depicting a kind-faced, dirty blonde, bearded man smiling as he swings Henry into the air, whom Killian recognizes from the case files as Emma's deceased paramour. Mixed in with the photographs are a child's drawing – labeled in red crayon scrawl "Me and Papa Graham" – and what looks suspiciously like a birth certificate with no parents listed and only the first name "Emma", last name "Unknown". He is struck again by how shaken she must have been to hide away and break down, that one movie night – and even then only a single tumbler – and now are the only times he has known Emma to try drinking as a way to forget her problems. Moving the nearly empty bottle from her grasp before trying to move her, his stomach twinges, thinking of how sick she is apt to feel in the morning.

Once assured that she has emptied her stomach and won't have anything more to expel, Killian eases Emma up with him as he stands to his feet again, then lifts to set her on the edge of the tub, run cold water on a cloth, and gently wash her face and neck, knowing the cool water will feel better after the perspiration and heaving. He then finds a glass in the medicine cabinet, fills it up with cold water, making sure all the while to keep one hand on her arm, seeing that she stays upright. Crouching before Emma again, he coaxes her to drink the whole glass, tilting it at her lips until she hazily complies, somewhat looking at him through eyes scarcely open more than slits. "Drink up, Swan," he urges, trying to put some cheer into his concerned voice. "We wouldn't want you pickling your liver like a true Irishwoman."

She releases a breath of air and, still leaning against him, barely murmurs a lazy, "Shut up, Jones," that lacks any sort of venom on the end of the sigh.

Killian picks her up again, savoring just a moment of cradling her in his arms, despite the situation, and then wondering in surprise at the thought. He knows now that though she had seemed calm and controlled once Henry was found, Emma had obviously not really been that stoic on the inside. He hadn't realized she was this distressed, certainly. If he had known she was hurting like this, he would never have left her alone earlier. Henry's disappearance was the final straw, so to speak, but he was a smart enough man to see that the once the dam broke, it let the many other things Emma has been holding back flood over her.

Setting Emma down on the edge of her bed, handling her with delicate care, Killian tilts her face up to meet his gaze with fingers under her chin, tapping her cheeks to get a reaction until she looks back. Mostly, he wants to gauge just how glassy her eyes are and if it is safe to let her sleep uninterrupted without fear of alcohol poisoning. Finally, mostly satisfied that she should be alright to sleep it off, though already resolved to spend the night in the chair against the far wall where he can watch over her, Killian releases her chin and moves to back away.

Surprisingly, Emma doesn't let her head fall or drop her gaze from his. Instead, she leans in, bringing their faces closer together, until their noses are almost brushing, and catches his hand in hers with a grip much stronger than he would have expected. "Stay with me," she murmurs thickly, so low and muddled that if he weren't as close to her as he is and as attuned to her, he wouldn't have caught her plea at all.

Blinking owlishly up at him, Emma holds his stare, and pain lances in his chest at the expression. He wants to pull her in, to hold her in his arms, to taste those fully pink lips she suddenly seems to be offering up to him gladly, to love and cherish her as she deserves, as well as strive to protect her. The good Lord knows it has been so long since he's had anyone to hold, since anyone trusted him enough to lay her head on his chest and sleep soundly, knowing he would protect her. As soon as that warm sentiment curls pleasantly in his chest, a vicious image of Milah's body at the morgue where he had been the one to identify her flashes in his mind cruelly, disturbing the moment of almost contentment. The last person who had trusted him to protect her had died when he couldn't.

It physically pains him that he cannot be sure Emma isn't acting out of desperation brought on by fear and hurt, even how aware she is of what she is doing and saying after the amount of drink she's had, or how much she will remember. Pushing the rest of his jumbled emotions away and reminding himself of his duty, Killian tries to ignore the longing in her eyes and put some emotional distance between them. He needs to make sure Emma is comfortable, see to her well-being through the night, and forget these last few minutes ever happened come morning light. Shaking his head sadly, he brushes a hand through her silky hair, all the bliss he will allow himself, and she tilts her head, leaning her cheek into his palm. He can barely pull his hand away again and step back to gain some clarity.

Finding the pajama shorts she must have intended to wear tossed on the bedside table, Killian takes Emma's hands and pulls her to stand before him. Biting into his lip, hoping the sharp pain will help to strengthen his control, Killian determinedly avoids her eyes as he undoes the button of her jeans and eases down the zipper. Slowly, carefully, trying desperately not to let his gaze linger on the lovely, pale expanse of her long, slim legs, he eases the denim to the floor, guiding her hands to rest on his shoulders for balance, as a parent would a small child when helping them get ready for bed. Then, he has Emma lift first one foot and then the other to put them through the leg holes of the sleep shorts he's found and pulls them up to her waist, breathing a sigh of strained relief when he has once more covered the ridiculously tiny bikini panties in black, all that had kept her from being completely bare before him.

Taking a step back, Killian attempts a lighthearted smile at his charge, hoping she won't hate him in the morning when she realizes how vulnerable she has been. "Well, Swan, let's tuck you into bed, shall we?" His voice comes out sounding choked and much huskier than normal, but there is nothing for it at the moment.

Emma, apparently, has other ideas and seems to come out of her stupor enough to act on them and catch him by surprise. Clasping the collar of his button-down in each hand, she stands on her tiptoes to reach him just as she jerks him back toward her with enough force to throw Killian off balance and in the direction she intends. Next thing he knows, their lips are fused and Emma is snaking her hand up through his hair and letting out a pleased little moan that nearly sinks him.

He falls into the kiss – can't help it – and for several blissful moments, Killian loses himself in the sensation, pulling her willing form against his body, angling his mouth over hers to delve more actively into the kiss. When she giggles woozily and begins nipping at his lower lip though, a shudder runs through him and every nerve and sinew flares to life with awareness of Emma's proximity and how very much he wants her. He has to pull back now, before he goes blind to all reason.

Catching both of Emma's wrists in his hands, he untangles them from where one is carding through his hair and the other has wrapped around his shoulder. Killian holds her at arm's length, shaking his head to clear it and gather enough of his wits to speak.

"Emma," he starts, beseeching her to understand. He cannot take advantage of her pain, her intoxication, and her moment of vulnerability. First and foremost, his job is to guard her, to keep her alive, becoming too emotionally attached compromises his ability to stay sharp, to do his duty to the best of his ability. He hates to realize that he has let himself lose sight of that. Secondly, this woman standing before him is usually so strong and so guarded. After months, she has let down her walls around him, let him begin to know her; he cannot bear to think that she will hate her moment of weakness – and him – once her mind clears. "I can't…" he manages. "We shouldn't do something you might regret…"

The lovely clear jade of her eyes clouds with hurt, and Emma slumps, falling back as if he has struck her. Her arms wrap around herself protectively, and her gaze falls from his to the floor, refusing to rise again. "Of course, you're right," she mumbles almost inaudibly, turning her back on him and moving to get into bed.

As she does, he sees a tear run down her cheek and it stabs at him, knowing he has hurt her, made her feel rejected once more…but he cannot in good conscience let them continue what they started. Emma pulls the covers up until she is nearly hidden beneath them, then mumbles, "It's fine, Jones. I understand. You can go."

He shakes his head, seeing clearly from her face, even in the dim light, that things are anything but fine. "No, Lass, you don't understand. I don’t know when I last did something as hard as stopping just now…but that has to be a one-time thing. I cannot lose my focus in keeping you safe. But I won't have you be alone tonight either. I'll be staying right here in this chair, to keep watch over you."

"Suit yourself," she replies, seeming to completely miss or ignore the rest of his heartfelt plea, trying to shrug her shoulders in unconcern, but the movement is lethargic and falls flat halfway through.

Killian drops into the chair, bending his long legs and settling in for the night. Unfortunately, he can't help hearing the whisper she releases into the dark. "I should have known you didn't want me either…I'm never enough to make anyone stay…"

He sighs, rubbing a hand roughly over his weary face, trying to think of some response, anything he can say to make it better. He is not sure she is aware that she's spoken out loud, but she is hurting regardless. No fitting reassurances come to him, but he clears his throat to attempt them anyway, until he sees that Emma has either passed out or finally fallen asleep, and lets it pass. The morning will be soon enough to face whatever damage has been done. He can only hope that in the light of day, he will be able to repair the rift that seems to have suddenly opened wide between them. If that kiss is as seared in Emma's consciousness as Killian knows it is in his, then he can only hope she will forgive him, and treasure it, but understand come morning why it could not go any further. Emma's life – and Henry's – are the most important things to him now, even more so than they were before. He may sacrifice a second chance at love for the cause, but to see her safe and well, Killian Jones realizes, he will give that and more.

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The next day, sunlight streaming through the blinds wakes Emma most unpleasantly to the headache pounding through her skull. Squinting to avoid the pain those brilliant rays cause, she lets out a disgruntled groan while levering herself up on her elbows, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. Glancing blearily around her, her gaze is arrested by the sight of Killian Jones dozing heavily in the chair at her bedside. He's still in his jeans and boots, head fallen to rest awkwardly on his chest in a way that will no doubt leave him with a stiff neck upon waking.

An unpleasant lurching in her stomach at the little movement she's made quickly interrupts her enjoyment of seeing Jones vulnerably rumpled and off his guard, sprawled out in sleep. It is only very gingerly that she eases herself up to sit fully and tries to remember why he is sitting vigil at her bedside. After another minute, snatches of the evening before flash back through her mind and a shameful blush rises on her cheeks. Gingerly sliding her legs out of the sheets, Emma crawls from her warm cocoon and puts bare feet to the floor. Looking down at the short pajama shorts and skimpy tank, she briefly sees Killian finding her on the floor after she had thrown up, sees herself falling into his arms and kissing him, only to have him pull away rather than continue with her. Suddenly, Emma doesn't know how to proceed or how she will look him in the eye from now on.

Yet, in spite of the position she has put him in, Jones has stayed with her through the night, watching over her like the scruffy, rough-hewn guardian angel he has been ever since he took on their case. Wistful regret fills her at what could have been if their meeting and relationship were different. That one kiss, the heat of it spreading through her veins like molten fire, the comfort and security she felt in his arms like she has never experienced before, is obviously all she is meant to have – however much, now that she knows what it's like, she might wish for more. His concern for her and protective instinct is clear beyond the other complications and awkwardness she has created. Affection for Jones swells within her, and Emma takes the top blanket off her bed and carries it over to cover him warmly. Pressing a feather-light kiss of gratitude to his temple, she retreats quickly before she rouses him and makes the situation any more strained.

Almost as if he is aware of her touch, or has been dreaming of her, a breathy sigh escapes Jones' lips as he relaxes more comfortably into his slumber. With a bittersweet smile, she imprints this one and only intimate picture of him on her mind, if she is never to be granted another. He deserves justice, retribution for all he has lost, a chance to find peace…and someday, she hopes, happiness. If they aren't meant to be together beyond his assignment as her guard, she won't hold him to her.

Swiping at a few errant tears, Emma exits the room and steals barefoot down the stairs to start a pot of coffee and face the day. The sooner she forgets the night before, and the moment they shared, the better it may be for all of them…


	12. Chapter Eleven: Risk and Reward

_ Chapter Eleven: Risk and Reward _

By 9:00 a.m., Emma is puttering at the kitchen sink, finishing up the dishes from breakfast and doing a valiant job of ignoring the hangover headache still pulsing at her brow. Smiling despite everything that has gone on, she is busy being charmed by Ruby and Henry's lighthearted conversation from where they sit at the kitchen counter behind her. Henry gabbles on with one of his made-up stories while Ruby giggles and asks questions at all the right places.

When Killian stumbles down the last few steps and shuffles into the scene a few minutes later, looking irresistibly rumpled and still dead tired, Emma flushes remembering the vulnerable way she'd offered herself up to him the night before and the embarrassment that followed, still she offers him a soft smile, nodding her head towards the fresh coffee waiting at the counter. Shocks of his black hair stand on end and the hazy blue of his half-open eyes is bleary as he pads forward on sock feet, but it doesn't keep Emma from feeling as if her whole world and all that she loves is now here in this kitchen – no matter how she tries to steel herself against it. Leaving behind the feelings stirred up and then left unfulfilled last night will clearly be harder than she thought.

"Rough night?" Ruby asks her partner with a knowing quirk to her brow and teasing in her tone as she glances up from Henry to look at Killian for a moment.

Killian, however, merely glares at her, not even bothering to answer Ruby as he grunts noncommittally and begins to pour the steaming coffee into a heavy ceramic mug. Ruby rolls her eyes good naturedly, used to he grumpy nature when exhausted.

Not at all intimidated, she snorts humorously and shakes her head, but doesn't push, sensing something going on that she hasn't been made privy to – probably seeing it even more in the way Emma stiffens and her eyes shift almost guiltily at Ruby's question to Jones as well. Studying her other charge more closely, even as she continues to nod to Henry so he doesn't feel that he has lost her attention, Ruby begins to take in more of the other woman's tells. The way Emma's eyes squint as though fighting a headache and shy away from the light, the tight line of her mouth, and the circles under her eyes, become more apparent as Ruby considers Emma more closely. "Are you alright?" she asks, nudging her new friend when Killian finds the seat farthest from her searching gaze and makes it clear he is not planning to give her any answers.

Emma smiles at her wryly, a bit of pink blush rising high on her cheeks as she nods toward Henry, clearly trying to convey a sort of 'maybe I'll explain later when he's not listening'.

Ruby nods her understanding and stands up suddenly, clapping her hands in excitement, which causes Emma to jump, startled, and Killian to wince and hold his hand to his temple. The younger agent pays no mind to either of them though, only looking at Henry and practically bouncing with excitement for his benefit. "Hey bud, do you still wanna go outside for a bit? This evening is that fair in town you've been dying to go to, but it's hours away. What do ya say we go for a walk?"

"Yeah!" Henry agrees with immediate enthusiasm, leaping off the chair he had been sitting on and hopping up and down until Ruby picks him up and swings him around.

Ruby grins happily, putting the youngster back on the floor so he can run to find his shoes and jacket. Turning in the kitchen entryway, she looks at both Killian and Emma in turn. "Are we still planning to take him to that this evening? I know he needs to learn a lesson from yesterday, but he's been asking if it's time for this for two weeks…and it might be our last chance for a little celebration of our time here." She looks almost as hopeful as Henry would if he were asking Emma thinks with some amusement mixed into her affection. In truth, she had not even seriously considered taking this treat away from her little boy. Other than his error with his teacher, Henry has been a model child, and she wants to do something fun with him to make up for all the change and drama in his life recently. They leave for Boston soon, and Emma knows things will turn more difficult and emotionally charged again – not to mention possibly frightening once the trial is underway – and she wants to commemorate their time here for herself as well as Henry

Emma meets Ruby's eyes and nods confirmation.

"Good," Ruby grins, mischief then overtaking her features as she continues, "but you both look like you need to take a nap, or you might not feel up to it…"

"Blimey, Lucas! Get out of here!" Jones snarls, waving her off with irritable impatience, even though as bleary and stiff as he appears, it is far from threatening. "Of course, we'll take the lad. You're just nosing around for details that are none of your concern."

She pulls her full red lips together into a firm line, raising her eyebrows in an expression of disbelief. "If you say so, Kil," she states deliberately, "but from where I'm standing, it would seem this could concern us all." Turning on her heel, she is gone quickly, and a few moments later, they hear the front door click shut behind her exit with Henry.

Emma lets out the soapy water after putting the last of the dishes in the drainer. Refilling her mug of coffee, she crosses to the table and sits facing Killian, but then finds herself with no idea what to say and stares down into her drink, hoping he will speak.

A light breeze drifts in through the open kitchen windows, and peals of laughter from Henry on the porch, birds singing, and the tapping of the maple tree's branch against the outside of the house do interrupt the silence, but Emma finds herself yet hanging on it anxiously when Killian clears his throat, looks up, and makes eye contact.

"Well, Lass," he starts, licking his lip in a slow gesture, obviously meant to give him one more moment to gather his thoughts, but which makes her swallow hard trying desperately not to look at his tempting lips that aren't hers to kiss. His low voice continues and thankfully reclaims her attention. "I have truly made a mess of things." He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, bowing his head for a moment before glancing back up to her.

Emma's brow furrows as she reaches out to take his hand gently. " _ You _ messed up? What do you mean, Jones? I was thinking that I owed you the apology. I was out of line last night when you were just trying to do your job."

He shakes his head, then winces and immediately halts the movement, gracing her with a rueful half-smile. Clearly, his neck is more than a bit stiff. "But I hurt you, Swan. Or at least I fear that I did…and that was far from my intention." He stops there, not wanting to mention the last few words she had said and the pain he had heard in her voice when he stopped their kiss. "It's just that I am your assigned agent, and you are a federal witness. There is nothing more important than keeping you and your boy safe. Whatever my feelings may be, I cannot allow them to affect my focus. There are reasons agents are not supposed to get emotionally involved with their charges – though I must admit it is a bit too late for that."

She gives him a small, mischievous smile from beneath her lashes, squeezing the fingers of his hand that she still holds playfully. "Too late?" she questions again hopefully, afraid to say that his words have given her a glimpse of hope. Even if he will not allow himself to act, if the attraction she feels for him is returned as she thought, then someday…

"You must know, Emma. Surely you know how I care for you. But if anything were to happen because my guard was down, if I let emotion steal my vigilance and you or Henry paid the price…" He shakes his head violently, as if to erase all other outcomes from thought. "No. I cannot take that chance."

She nods her understanding but still holds his gaze. Drawing in a deep breath, Emma forces herself to look into the stunning blue of Killian's eyes and to be as honest as he has just been with her. "You haven't messed anything up, not if that's the way you feel. I was hurt because I thought I was the only one, that you aren't as affected as me, and that I'm only a responsibility to you. I can't blame you for caring more about our safety than anything else. Nothing is more important than Henry's life to me. Still…" she blows out a breath here, rubbing her suddenly sweaty free hand on her thigh, "if there is something here…between us… you won't be our agent forever, right? I mean, the trial will end sometime, and we can only hope those animals are put away. Maybe then…?"

Killian feels the tiniest smile curling up the corners of his mouth as well. "Aye, Lass, maybe then we shall see just what else we could be." He is honestly more than a bit flabbergasted at her admission and the turn this conversation has taken altogether. He knows it isn't professional to give her false hope like this; she could be moved anywhere in the world and be given yet another identity when this is all over. They aren't even that far along yet. He or Ruby could be hurt or even killed trying to protect them before the trial ever occurs. Yet, it's hard to deny the happiness he sees spreading over her lovely face or the hope he feels blooming in his own heart. It was apparently genuine desire and not only the rum and tension that caused her to act as she did last night, for which he is immensely grateful, even if it makes life more complicated right now. Denying himself – and Emma – the incredible connection they feel is much more bearable when he lets himself think it won't be forever, that they may have a chance at some point once the danger has passed and his job is done. He makes the decision then and there that he simply is not going to take that away from either of them.

"Then there's nothing to forgive," Emma vows, taking his hand, still twined with hers, and cradling it against her chest for a moment. "I'm sorry that you saw me like that last night and that I really put you in a tough spot. Thinking that Henry had been taken really threw me for a loop. After all we had done, I couldn't believe that maybe it had made no difference, maybe they would find us no matter what we did. I knew I was going to fall apart, and I didn't want anyone to see. I certainly didn't mean for you to have to take care of me in that state."

"Ah, Darling," he whispers lightly, ghosting his thumb in a tender brush across her cheek. "That was nothing. It has been far too long since anyone needed me for myself, not just as an FBI agent. You never have to apologize for that – or for being human. What happened with Henry would have shaken anyone. I'm just glad I found you, and that you are alright."

She dips her head, blushing violently but chuckling too, glad that it feels everything is out in the open now and they are going to be okay. It doesn't make the desire or the wish for this man to hold her, the craving for another searing kiss, disappear, but knowing the feeling is returned helps with the awkwardness. They will not always have to deny themselves the reward their feelings could bring. It's too much of a risk now, but there is the hope that someday things will be different.

"All's well now, eh Magpie?" he murmurs, waggling his eyebrows and sweetly easing the mood that had grown heavy between them with his easy banter.

"Aye," she teases back, making a horrible attempt at copying his accent, "it is."

The moment stretches on until Emma shakes herself loose and stands. Going to the front door and looking out to the porch where Henry and Ruby are, she can still feel Killian's presence warm and close behind as he follows her, but it isn't discomforting now; they have an understanding and are in this together once again.

Her little boy looks up as she peeks out and calls to him. Her heart swells, and it is a reward in itself when his eyes sparkle with pure, uncomplicated joy; for this one moment, the risks to this point have been worth it to see her little boy so happy and free. Whatever comes after this, she will still do anything for Henry and the love he has brought to her life.


	13. Chapter Twelve: On Top of the World

_ Chapter Twelve: On Top of the World _

The whole sleepy little town appears transformed when they arrive at the fair that evening and walk down the normally deserted main street, this night a vibrant midway full of games and rides and food stands. It is all Emma can do to get Henry to at least have a hot dog before he clamors to try every kind of sweet he lays eyes on, from cotton candy and ice cream to elephant ears and fried Twinkies. Their FBI protectors are suddenly much less help than she would have hoped, between Ruby breaking off bits of her funnel cake and feeding Henry bites of it dipped in raspberry jam, and Killian looking on laughingly and then presenting Henry his own tri-colored bag of cotton candy.

"Jamie Frost!" she screeches, managing just in time to use his new name. "Don't you dare eat all that!" Emma tries, hoping to retain some bit of stern authority. "You will have nothing but a stomachache after that much sugar." But when he son turns to look at her, beaming with pink and blue crystals of spun sugar stuck to the corners of his mouth and powdered sugar dusted on his chin, she breaks out laughing along with the other two adults.

"I'll be fine, Mama. Promise," he chirps happily. He's already practically bouncing alongside the three of them, and Emma shakes her head, even as she revels in his giddy excitement.

"A little sugar never hurt anyone," Ruby joins in cajolingly, elbowing Emma playfully as she does so.

"Really?" Emma jibes back. "In that case, you can be the one who stays up with him all night while he bounces off the walls on a sugar high."

The brunette merely shrugs, chuckling lightly and seeming unperturbed by Emma's half-hearted threat. "I know you're right, but it's almost worth it to see him so excited. He's such a calm, grown-up little guy most of the time; it's fun to see him act like a kid. He deserves a day like this after all the changes we've put him through," Ruby muses, looking after her charge with a gentle smile, as Henry walks just ahead of them, jabbering to Killian about all the sounds and flashing lights around them. The younger woman's voice drops to a much lower tone so as not to be overheard, but Emma also thinks she catches a bit of subdued guilt in the pretty agent's deep brown eyes.

Responding easily, with an openness that surprises her, as it hasn't come easily for her for most of her life, Emma moves to walk more closely with her new friend, linking her arm through Ruby's and murmuring lowly. "Are you kidding?!" She shakes her head. "There is no way you should be feeling bad when you and Killian have saved both of our lives at least twice already and probably will again." She shudders a bit at the thought, but presses on. "Besides, granted, my baby boy is pretty mature for his age, but he's been having a great time ever since we moved to this place. He thinks he's on some great big adventure…and he loves you, Ruby, in case you hadn't noticed." She gives the other woman a sideways grin, to which Ruby responds in kind, a grateful look on her face.

"That's nice of you to say, Maggie," she adds, remembering to use the correct identity with a professional ease that continues to amaze Emma. "Thanks. I hope you're right… He's such a good kid."

Emma pats the brunette's arm before letting go and resuming her normal stride, truly touched by the agent's words. "Thank you, Ruby," she adds. "I've always thought so."

Their attention is drawn by a squeal of delight from Henry, a momentary sound of scuffling, and then Killian darts past them, the boy riding on his shoulders and chortling with such merry glee that one would bet he has never had such fun. With their boys taking off ahead of them, Emma and Ruby hasten their steps to keep up, curious to see what Killian has in mind. They can see Henry over the heads of the crowd, so the pair are not at all hard to follow.

She can't help an entertained giggle when she and Ruby catch up and she sees where Killian has stopped. Crouched in front of the Milk Bottle Toss booth, Killian is face to face with Henry, conferring with the boy as if they are discussing the most serious matter known to man. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh at their dangerously handsome, lethally trained and world weary protector with his head bowed toward her son's, eyes alight with mischief, making plans on how to outsmart a carnival carney's game. She shouldn't be tempted to tease him at all; it's incredibly kind that he is going out of his way to make her little boy happy, even if it appears to be through something as silly as winning a ridiculously huge and obnoxiously colored stuffed animal in a game that is completely rigged against them. The way he naturally and without prompting treats Henry as an equal instead of a chore or an encumbrance truly does make her heart pound in a way she knows better than to focus on.

Their little conference seemingly over, Killian stands abruptly, his back straight, manner confident, even sending Henry a conspiratorial wink as the stand's attendant hands him the heavy wooden balls – five in all – that he throws for his chances to win. Emma and Ruby have now moved up to stand off to the side, but even with Killian and Henry where they can watch. Killian notices her standing to his left and shoots her a mischievous look, wiggling his heavy, dark eyebrows playfully. She gets the immediate sense that this particular skill is child's play for him, and that he is taking them all in for fun. It only amuses her that much more, and she watches, intrigued for his con to unfold.

Winding his arm back, Killian releases the first throw, which flies through the air at impressive speed only to completely miss the artfully stacked tower of bottles. Henry looks up at his partner in crime, mouth falling open in both stunned surprise and some obvious disappointment. Emma raises her brows, a silent look that broadcasts teasingly, 'Really? Is that all ya got?', when he glances over his shoulder at her.

He shrugs as if responding, 'Well, what can I say?', but throws her a cheeky grin as well before turning to take up the next ball. He goes completely still, focused, for a moment, then slings back and throws once more, this one equally as fast, but also unerringly accurate and taking off the top two rows of the pile and two bottles from the third. Without hesitating, he picks up the third ball, rears back once more, and in seemingly less than a blink, he has demolished the rest of the third row and taken half the bottom one as well.

Emma can't miss her little boy's excitement now; Henry is hopping on his toes and practically wriggling. Though he doesn't make a sound, he looks ready to burst. She can see him aching to yell out encouragement and root for the next two throws, but he stays quiet, as if he thinks he will ruin the agent's concentration.

Killian looks almost relaxed as he sets his stance and lets fly his next-to-last attempt. It arches more gently than Jones's previous two shots, as if he hasn't put enough force behind it. Emma's observation proves true when it glances off the remaining bottles without upsetting a single one.

"Oh no!" Henry calls out, appearing unable to stop his little burst of dismay. However, Killian appears unfazed, and Emma is struck once again by the thought that he has a definite plan unfolding, only heightened by the way he cuts his eyes over to where she and Ruby are watching and sends her a smirk. The cool exterior is disrupted, however, when Henry sees he still has one last shot, though it's difficult – all or nothing – and cheers him on innocently. "That's okay, Killy! One more try! You can do it!"

Killian turns back to the boy, smiling at Henry even as he shakes his head at the reappearance of his childish nickname. Emma and Ruby lean on each other so as not to double over laughing, but manage to keep quiet. Killian pulls back his arm once more and lets the last shot loose. As soon as she sees it, Emma knows with absolute certainty that this was just how Jones intended the whole thing to go. His last throw easily clears the table of all bottles, wins the prize to maximum dramatic effect, and sends Henry into ecstatic palpitations.

Swinging the boy up into his arms so that he can see over the tables to all the prizes, Killian tells Henry to take his pick. Henry nods enthusiastically and wraps his little arms around his protector's neck, saying, "Thank you, Killy," in an adoring way that nearly causes Emma to melt. It's ridiculous how little it takes for her to feel that way again, even though she knows Killian intends to keep his distance and she fully understands his reasoning.

There is still a part inside of her that yearns for him, for another taste of the kiss that passed between them last night. She has never felt such a magnetic physical pull toward anyone in her life, nor experienced such a fiery connection after the simplest touch, or felt so safe and secure in another person's embrace. There is no help for it, and she has already promised herself not to hold him back or cling to him through pity and guilt, but it doesn't change the fact that she dreads losing him when their job as protection detail is complete. It has only been seven months, but Emma already hates to think of how empty her life will feel when she must go back to living it without Killian Jones at her side.

She is broken from her thoughts when Henry comes dashing toward she and Ruby, already holding up his prize and calling out to both of them happily. "Look! Look what Mr. Killy won me!" He skids to a stop, just short of barreling into them and taking them both out at the knees. The huge, orange giraffe with lime green spots nearly hits her in the nose as Henry waves it in front of her face, but Emma dutifully "oohs" and "aahs" over it as if it is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen, not the eyesore that she knows will end up displayed prominently right in the middle of her living room.

Ruby compliments him on his new toy as well, but then shoots Emma a cryptic smile with a twinkle in her dark eyes. Hefting the giraffe under one arm, she holds out her hand to Henry. "Come on, little man. Let's you and I take your new buddy for a ride on the Ferris Wheel and give 'Mr. Killy' a chance to see if he can win anything close to this awesome for you mom."

Emma flushes in embarrassment at Ruby's obvious nudge for her to seek some alone time with Jones. She hasn't told Ruby any of what has passed between herself and Killian, but obviously the younger agent has pieced together enough on her own to think she needs to play matchmaker.

Her little boy is oblivious to the adult dynamics swirling around him and merely whoops his agreement to Ruby's suggestion, taking her offered hand and starting to pull her in the direction of the Ferris Wheel with barely a word for his mother. They set a meeting place and she waves him off easily, a gently indulgent smile on her face and a quick admonishment to be careful and listen to Ruby.

Turning to face Killian, Emma can feel heat on her cheeks letting her know her embarrassment is showing. She does not want Jones to think she has been blabbing to his partner or has been trying to finagle to get him alone after the understanding they reached. She tilts her head curiously, awaiting his response, as she offers, trying to keep the tone light, "Well, what do you say, Jones? How will you continue to prove your macho skill?"

Scoffing at her challenge, he arches a brow, but steps closer, offering his arm for her to take as they continue down the midway. Even as they do, he lobs banter right back at her. If Emma didn't know better, know that it isn't humanly possible, she would think the man could read her mind. He has clearly sensed she is uneasy and doesn't want to exacerbate the pressure, so he plays along with her effort at normalcy. "What else must I do to prove myself, Maggie me lass?" he teases good naturedly, playing up his lilting accent more as he often does when having fun. "I've already won your boy the biggest prize in the place. How shall I impress you?"

An impish light comes into Emma's eyes as she sees just the thing over his shoulder: the strong man test. "Oh, I may have some idea," she croons, pulling him toward the game by their linked arms and deciding not to dwell any longer on the fact that they have certainly slipped back into flirtatious territory, despite his previous backing off and all their noble intentions. Instead, she is going to take happiness where she can – the last few months have shown her how precious and fleeting that happiness can be – and enjoy the moments she has with him.

When they stop before the challenge, Killian looks surprised for only a moment, then allows his unfailing swagger to take over. Practically leering down at her, he runs his tongue scandalously along his lower lip before leaning in to murmur deeply at her ear. "Do you truly require further proof of my virility, Darling? Or do you merely wish to ogle my form at its fullest capacity?"

She should pull back; Emma knows she ought to, for both their sakes. The way he can switch effortlessly from serious, driven, quietly guarded FBI agent to playful, engaging, and irresistible dream guy in seconds is impressive and throws her quite off guard. Looking at him as he stares down at her lasciviously, Emma finds herself breathless with want and cannot put the careful distance back between them even if she wanted to…which she has to admit, deep down, is not the case.

Paying the attendant and taking up the mallet, Killian shoots her a ridiculously incendiary look and swings it down, also without seeming to try. Though he is built with a handsomely lean intensity, he is certainly no muscle bound bodybuilder type. However, the red mark shoots up the post, clanging off the top point and making all the bells and whistles go wild. Killian struts back to her, arms flexed over his head as all the nearby crowd hoots and hollers, while Emma blushes tomato red and tries to hide her face. The carney offers them their prize, but Killian declines after Emma shakes her head, trembling with silent laughter and attempting to hide her face overheated with embarrassment against his chest.

Leading her away from the clamor and hubbub, he interlocks his fingers with hers and brings their joined hands up to his mouth, letting his stubble brush against her skin as he plants a light kiss on the back of her hand. Cliché as it sounds, Killian's warm lips pressed gently to her skin nearly make her heart stop. Moving forward to the place they are supposed to meet Ruby and Henry, Emma thrills at the fact that he is still holding her hand, relishing the closeness of his strong, calloused fingers between hers and the reassuring pressure of his grip surrounding her.

Looking across at her, Killian studies Emma's face, as if trying to read all her emotions from her current expression. "Someday, Swan," he whispers hoarsely, for the first time ever in public using her true name, even if it is spoken so softly that no one but her could possibly hear. His face is suddenly serious and ardent as he seems to gaze into her soul. "It may not be our time now, but when it is possible, I hope you will still give me a chance."

She finds herself unable to fully swallow the huge lump in her throat to respond aloud, but nods fervently in agreement, hoping he will understand. They stop near a small brick building, with facilities for men on one side and women on the other. Killian stands outside to wait while Emma slips in for a moment, digging through her large carry-all purse for her iPhone after finishing up and washing her hands. The bag is deep, and she gets exasperated the longer she fumbles through fruitlessly. She doesn't hear the scratching, scuffling sounds against the outer wall she has her back to, nor even take notice of the supposedly locked maintenance and cleaning staff door cracking open behind her. Without her ever noticing, a black clad figure slips through the entry of that storage closet and is on her soundlessly before Emma even knows there's danger.

Immediately frightened, Emma starts to turn, already attempting to fight her way free and scream for help. The movement is arrested roughly, and Emma never sees who has caught her. A large, smothering hand clamps over her mouth, muffling the cry she hopelessly releases, while an arm jerks her back into a solid, immovable body. Emma struggles in the person's grip for several desperate seconds, then there is a sharp needle prick in her neck, making her movements go sluggish, then her body fall numb, before everything fades to black.

Her attacker hefts Emma's limp form over his shoulder and carries her to the closet he was using to lie in wait for her. When he steps back out a few moments later, with what appears to be only a tarp-covered bundle of service materials over his shoulder, which will raise no alarm at all carried by an apparent maintenance man. Heading away from the brick building swiftly, but not enough so to gain any attention, Emma's abductor vanishes with her, and no one sees anything at all. For several precious minutes too long, no other people enter the ladies' room to notice the purse that has fallen from her lax, unconscious fingers and its contents spilled across the slick cement floor. The phone that has fallen from her bag rings now despite the way its screen has shattered, Jones' call going unanswered even before he realizes that his Emma is gone.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Tumbling Down

_ Chapter Thirteen: Tumbling Down _

Killian waits patiently for the first five minutes that Emma is gone, but as seven, and then eight minutes pass, he grows anxious, pacing right outside the women's room door; even if it will make Emma crazy when she re-emerges. His Swan is not an overly looks-focused woman, and she had said she just needed a moment. He knows she was anxious to get back to Henry now that they had been apart for a bit. He could not blame her, after all they have weathered, for wanting to keep a check on the lad. By the time ten minutes tick by, his senses are going crazy. Something has happened. He had only turned away from the door for a few moments, when he thought he heard Henry calling to him; surely no one could have taken Emma in that sliver of time. Yet, heart pounding, inner alarms blaring, Killian cannot force himself to wait any longer.

Bursting into the women's restroom, thankfully deserted of other patrons, his muscles go weak for a moment, shock and fear coursing through him at near-debilitating levels. Strewn across the floor haphazardly are the contents of Emma's abandoned purse. He knows it is hers, both because he recognizes the brown leather bag he has felt bumping against his hip all the time he and Emma were walking closely hand-in-hand, and because Henry's beloved storybook is sticking out of it. Falling to his knees, Killian scoops everything he sees nearby back into the purse, clutching it in a death grip and floundering back outside, nearly unhinged with worry for his charge, what may already be happening to her, and palpable rage at those who have taken her, as well as at himself for enjoying a bit of fleeting happiness and dropping his guard. He had sworn to protect her, and she has been taken from right under his nose! Instinct and training kick in despite his distraught state, and he is already calling David Nolan to report and receive instructions.

David snaps into brisk, capable team leader mode immediately, telling Killian to meet up with Ruby and Henry as planned, see that the boy is still secure, then get to local PD headquarters as soon as possible. David will put all the necessary alerts and searches in place as soon as he and his agent sign off, but it does not feel like enough to Killian, whose heart is beating so hard it sounds like deafening drumbeats in his ears. He wants to fly after whomever has taken this woman he has come to care for so intensely and wreck horrible vengeance on them once he catches up. He is not naïve enough to think this is the work of anyone but Gold and his cronies, the ones who have already taken more than any one man should have to part with from him. They cannot have Emma Swan as well.

He grinds his teeth, mentally girding for a fight, when David's voice breaks through the furious haze in his mind. "And Killian?" the other man orders sternly. "Follow protocol. Do you hear me? Don't go off and do anything stupid."

"Aye, Mate, I hear you," Killian affirms before signing off, but he knows that if he had any sort of heading or sign of which way Emma has been taken, he would be following it that instant, no matter how ill-fated or stupid it might be.

His eyes constantly scan the crowd with sharp precision, looking for any clue, any hint, even as he moves toward the designated meeting spot and takes out his cell to call Ruby. The crowd and the carnival grounds are just as merry and light as they had been minutes ago, but to him, everything has been altered. He hopes against hope for Emma's brilliant, smiling face and her gorgeously sparkling green eyes to appear before him from the sea of strangers' faces. He prays that she is still whole and unharmed, that somehow she just slipped away from him and will reappear, happy and laughing as she was just a short time ago. But he knows Emma would never play such a joke on him; after the very real danger she and Henry have been in, she would not find such a thing funny. Short of the last five minutes being some surreal nightmare, Killian Jones knows better than to deny the horrible truth. It will do none of them any good.

No, Emma is gone. He could not have failed her more horribly if he'd tried. His shoulders slump with the horrible weight of guilt he heaps on himself as he nears their rendezvous point and realizes he will have to tell Henry that he has lost his mother. Just thinking about the little boy, and the pain and fear it will cause the lad, makes Killian's mouth go dry and all possible words leave him. The blood drains from his face even more completely than it had already.

Deciding that he cannot delay the inevitable, Killian prepares to dial Ruby, only to be interrupted by an incoming call. Immediate relief and anxiety flood him anew, hoping against hope that it might somehow be Emma, even though he knows that he holds her broken phone himself. He answers in a flash, speaking abruptly into the device. "This is Jones."

A low, ominous cackle meets his ears. "Ah, Agent Jones, at last we speak. I believe you've wanted to find me for some time, and I now I'm afraid I have something of yours. She can't speak to you right now, however. Sorry, Dearie." The eerie, mocking laughter that rings through the speaker grates frightfully against Killian's ears. He knows this has to be Gold, but to think that she is actually in the fiend's clutches does not grow less horrifying with time. A chill of foreboding runs down his spine, which he tries to ignore, and blinding anger rises once again in its place. Without doubt, he is speaking to Robert Gold himself – the crime lord responsible for nearly all of his life's misery.

Killian's eyes narrow and his fists clench, his words nearly a hiss as he forces them out past a narrowing throat. "This is no game. What have you done with her, you bastard?!"

The taunting, sing-song cadence of the man's voice changes abruptly, and Killian hears the deadly menace in his next words, spoken with the silky purr of a lion stalking his prey. Though he refuses to grant this monster even a grudging respect, it is easily clear how he has amassed an empire and has countless underlings and foot soldiers to do his bidding. "You listen to me, Agent Jones. Neither ire nor threats will do yourself or the lovely Miss Swan any good. It would have been child's play for me to finish her off already. But she is quite beautiful. One hates to sully such a gem prematurely…" The insidiousness of his veiled threat plays across Killian's mind effectively, as Gold obviously knows and pauses to allow. "Besides that, you and I have some long unfinished business. Come to the warehouse two streets past the midway in fifteen minutes. Alone. Alert no one where you are going. Disobey, and you will not like the state in which you will find the lovely Emma."

Killian blows out a frustrated breath, knowing this is beyond reckless, stupid, and a drastic mistake, and yet he cannot do anything else. He cannot risk more harm coming to Emma than might have already. He agrees heavily, his voice equally rough and determined. "You have me, Gold. You knew I would come, even before you made the call. You just need her not to testify; you don't need to hurt her. We may be forced to play by your rules for the moment, but mark my words, I will find a way to hold you accountable."

"I would so like to see you try, Agent," the malevolent voice taunts once more. "You have only been attempting it for what, fifteen years now? Be where I told you at the appointed time, or you will not see her again." One last gloating cackle is heard, and then the line goes dead in Killian's ear.

He doesn't know how Gold got his number, how he managed to follow them to Kansas, or how it was possible to take Emma from a crowded public place in a matter of moments, but none of that matters now. He knows the designated spot well, passed it on the way here even, and it will not take long to reach. Backtracking quickly before either Ruby or Henry arrive and see him, Killian steps forward to lean Emma's purse against a pillar of the gazebo where he was supposed to meet her son and his partner. Afraid that the criminals may already have some sort of surveillance on his phone, he does not dare place an actual call to his partner. He wants Ruby and Henry out of the way and guarded; it would truly break Emma to have her little boy captured and used against her as leverage. However, he is not willing to give up without leaving the woman who has been unfailingly loyal to him and had his back for more than five years some sort of clue. Carefully placing the bag so that Henry's book is clearly visible peeking from the top, he finds a pen and slip of paper within the purse and scrawls one word, 'SIDEWAYS' upon it. He and Ruby agreed a long time ago on this as their distress signal that things have fallen apart. He knows the young woman will understand and proceed quickly from there. Sticking the note on top with the book, he leaves hastily, hoping that they will find his warning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ruby Lucas has felt her hackles rising with some sort of unidentified foreboding for the last half hour. She and Henry are just a bit late getting back to their rendezvous with Emma and Killian, but that is no reason for the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end, or for the unease she feels all the way down to her bones. Upon reaching the little gazebo on the north end of the fairgrounds, however, Agent Lucas is horribly certain that the feeling in her gut has been right all along. Killian isn't here, and the man is never late. Turning in a slow circle to scan the surroundings and passerby, she at first sees no sign at all of her partner and Henry's mother, then her eyes catch on a familiar-looking bundle pushed under the bench seats along the side of the enclosure.

Holding Henry's hand tightly, already sensing she needs to keep him closer than ever, Ruby darts forward, finding that her suspicions are correct when she sees the purse Emma was carrying. Henry makes a little cry of recognition at his Snow White book sticking out and reaches for it, banishing any lingering doubts she might have wished to hold onto. Ruby gives the book to the boy without hesitation, sinking to the wooden seat weakly when she sees the sheet of paper sticking out with Killian's blocky scrawl on it. She knows what will be written on the message before the words even meet her troubled eyes.

'SIDEWAYS' – the code she and Jones agreed on long ago, though neither of them has ever used it until now. The shorthand warning of danger immediately puts Ruby on high alert. A thousand questions run through her mind. 'Are one of both of them hurt? Missing? Are they being recalled from the case? What is she supposed to do?' But in the next moment, she squares her shoulders and steels her resolve. While the rest may trouble her, she knows the answer to that last question if nothing else. The other meaning to their agreed upon code is that whatever has happened is too dangerous for the other to dive in after, and for them to wait for backup. Even as she is thinking it, the sunny, carefree setting is shattered by lights, sirens, a voice calling out over a bullhorn, and uniformed police swarming the area. Most people of the nearby people are held back from the ruckus for safety, but several officers come up the steps to Ruby and Henry and usher them to come along. Ruby acknowledges their instructions, and they follow their new guides without hesitation, but she cannot help wondering what has happened, where her partner is, and how she could, or should, be helping right now.

"Has anyone heard from Agent Jones?" she asks as they are whisked to a squad car ready to take them back to the station.

"I'm sorry Agent," the female officer nearest them offers, real sympathy in her tone. "We don't have any details. I'm supposed to get you and the boy back to squad while this area is secured. I do know your supervisor has already notified us and will be put through to speak to you on a secure line as soon as we arrive."

Ruby nods her thanks and slides into the backseat next to Henry. As they speed off, Ruby looks down at Henry, worried by his silence. The boy looks back at her, eyes welling and lower lip trembling, "Something happened to my mom, didn't it?" he whispers. Ruby can only wrap her arm around him and pull him in close to her body, rocking gently and trying to soothe him what little she can.

"Something has happened, Buddy," she whispers into his brown hair, still soft and baby fine. "But we'll find her. Everything's gonna be alright."

He doesn't say anything more, just sniffles and buries his face in her shirt, hiding from the world rushing by on all sides. Ruby closes her eyes for a moment, sending up a fervent prayer that the words of comfort she has just given Henry will prove to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Killian steps into the darkness of the warehouse, he doesn't see anything or anyone unusual at first. Pacing further in and glancing from side to side, his eyes start to adjust to the dim light, but the place is still distressingly deserted. Only when a metallic grinding sound echoes where a door is opened at the far end of the building and a beam of light slants in before the door slams once more, is Killian relieved to know that they have shown up and he has not lost Emma yet.

His relief is short-lived. As his foe and two thugs move closer, Killian can see more clearly, and he realizes that Gold's two subordinates support a third person between them, someone who is not moving and whose feet drag lifelessly along the dust-covered floor. The glint of bright golden hair makes certainty settle into his gut, even though he cannot see her face for the fall of bright hair and the way her head lolls forward unconsciously. The warring gratitude at seeing her in one piece battles with his concern over the reason for her being so still.

Gold steps forward from the concealing shadows, a cruel grin allowing an eyetooth capped the same color as his name to glint in the dark. "Don't worry, Agent. She is unharmed. A simple dose of sedative made her quite…malleable. Miss Swan isn't in any pain – yet. She didn't even have time to be afraid."

Killian can feel the muscle in his jaw tick with stress at not lunging forward to grasp the man by the throat. Growling out words that are low, threatening, but manage to sound much more in control than he really is, Killian replies, "Let her go, Gold. Your vendetta is with the FBI, and with me. You don't need to hurt her."

Even as he speaks, Killian knows this reasoning will do no good. Gold is ruthless, and he is smart. The merciless crook in him cannot allow a witness to any of the crimes committed by him or in his name to breathe. If any loose ends are left, he will eventually be tripped and caught. But the very thought of this filthy monster even touching Emma, harming a single hair on her head, sends a wave of panic through Killian's system that overwhelms all sense. The need to stop this man who has stolen everyone else he ever loved from taking the life of his Swan as well overrides everything else, no matter how fruitless his efforts may prove.

The small, sharp suited man before him gives Killian a gleaming smile, just barely showing his teeth and giving the hardened FBI agent a more sinister frisson of foreboding than any evil foes he has faced before. "Oh, I think you know better than that, Dearie," Gold says to him, his voice almost gleeful at the power and control he wields. "Miss Swan has the definite ability to do myself and my associates serious harm. Which means she must be silenced, even eliminated, if need be. You would do anything to safeguard her, that much is painfully clear. I think, for the time being at least, that means you are coming with us."

Killian lunges forward, ready to fight. It would not, in truth, be difficult to do serious injury to the small man before him, who uses a cane to walk, if he just makes it to Gold. Unfortunately, he realizes too late that his intense focus on this viper before him and his overwhelming concern for Emma have kept him from noticing more of Gold's henchmen circling behind him undetected. At the sudden movement, Gold snaps his fingers and a hood comes down over Jones's head, bringing nothing but blackness before his eyes. Rough hands grip his arms, holding him back. He struggles mightily, wild and thrashing, but only for a moment; then something strikes him hard in the back of the head. He slumps forward, limp and boneless as he loses awareness and everything else disappears.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Waking in a Nightmare

_ Chapter Fourteen: Waking in a Nightmare _

Killian Jones returns to consciousness slowly, blinking in a dim, windowless room and squinting against the throbbing pain of his skull, where he knows he was struck from behind. Unsure where he has been taken, at first he can barely see far enough to make out his surroundings. However, as his eyes adjust, Killian can see he is in some sort of basement or hidden cellar. Windowless, cement floor and walls border an almost empty room beyond the table before him and the chair he has been tied to: wrists secured on the armrests and ankles lashed to the chair legs. The fact that this place seems so remote and probably soundproof does not escape him, making a worried surge of adrenaline course through his blood, but he strives to reign it in, maintain control, take in as much about his surroundings as he can before his enemies make their next move.

Killian forces his pounding head up and pries his heavy eyes open fully, trying to straighten while bound literally hand and foot. But it is as he does so that his eyes find his wide-eyed companion within this prison. Emma is seated across from him, at the opposite end of the long table from where he is, bound in exactly the same manner.

She sucks in a sharp breath the moment she sees that he is awake and his eyes are open. Her relief is palpable, even with her eyes blown wide in shock and fear and her lower lip trembling with emotion, "Killian!" she breathes out, "Y-you're awake!" She starts to move forward unthinkingly, only to have her bonds pull her back, yet her gaze never leaves him, the watery sheen in her eyes giving away the terror she'd held that he would not wake up.

"Aye, Lass," he murmurs, head still pounding mightily, but giving her a nod he hopes will be mildly reassuring. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, a gentle half-smile quirks up the right corner of her mouth as she glances down at her hands tied to the arms of the chair, then back up to him wryly, "Relatively, I guess, considering…Now, anyway…" she trials off softly, drinking in the sight of his awake, aware face in a way that lets him know her answer hinges on his wellbeing.

"Glad I am to hear that, Love," he affirms; wishing he could reach her side, run a calming touch down her arm and grip her hand in his, loan her assurance and strength. "You were the one unconscious when I reached the meeting place with Gold."

"You went –" she stops herself, sucks in another breath, and tries again, looking nearly beside herself with stunned disbelief and pained guilt. "Why would you…?"

"Don't you know, Emma?" he speaks low and fervently, blue gaze boring into hers across the space between them, making sure she hears and understands. "I'd go to the ends of the world for you, do anything to assure your safety. Unfortunately, I feared he would kill you then and there if I tried to retaliate. Now we may both be in worse straits."

A tear runs silently down her cheek which he aches to brush away and put a kiss in its place. She has shared enough with him for Killian to know she believes no one could care for her that much, could give up their own safety to insure hers and wish so sincerely for her happiness. "You should have let them have me…" she whispers at last, barely audible and shaking her hand sadly.

Clenching his jaw, Killian's answer is terse and simple. "Never," he argues.

She glances back up to his face, blinking rapidly, gratitude in her expression even if he can tell she wants to fight him on the point. "A-at least I'm not sitting her alone and terrified. …Thank you."

He nods, feeling his mere presence is not nearly enough, but glad that it eases her.

"Thank goodness they didn't get Henry," she says honestly, "That we hadn't met up with Ruby yet. She'll keep him safe. She'll take care of him."

Killian does not like the tone of her voice at that last statement. Obviously he too is grateful that Emma's lad is not here and will not be hurt by these beasts, and he naturally feels the same relief for his partner, but he does not like how Emma seems almost resigned to Ruby keeping Henry in her care for more than a temporary span of time. "She would give her life for him, Swan, as you well know. Ruby will watch him for you until you return. But you will return to him. It may look bleak at the moment, but we'll make it out of here. I swore it to you once before, Emma, but I'll die before I let them hurt you."

A panicked exclamation of distress escapes her mouth and she shakes her head wildly, vehemently, opening her mouth to argue, "Killian, no! I don't want – "

Her thought is interrupted and left unfinished when the door against the far wall swings open and two people step down the last of a flight of stairs and into the dim, dank room with their prisoners. It is hard to make out exactly who they are at first in the near dark, though Killian can tell by the odd gait and tap of a cane that one of them is Gold himself. Once they have neared the table and Killian and Emma's chairs, he reaches up to pull the chain on a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and a stark light floods the room, making both Killian and Emma squint against the brightness.

"Well, well, what have we here?" a silky, feminine voice asks, sounding deceptively cultured and sweet but making Killian's blood run cold and his muscles tense even further. The dark haired woman standing before them with Gold, looking as controlled and respectable as that monster always does, has frigid, calculating eyes, and is clearly enjoying the opportunity to toy with her quarry like a snake with trapped mice. This can be no other than Gold's shadowy, infamous female associate Cora Mills, otherwise known as the Queen of Hearts.

Emma looks to him, silent but curious eyes seeking answers, and he is infinitely glad he has not told her of this particular threat. Swan does not need to sit here helpless, knowing how the fiendish woman likes to finish off her victims when they are of no further use. The crime scene photos he has seen have been nearly enough to turn his stomach, and he had previously thought himself hardened to most anything and having seen it all. Emma will not suffer that fate; he will not allow it.

"You're a pretty one, aren't you?" Cora coos, falsely sounding friendly, even soothing. Neither Killian nor Emma have answered either of her questions, but Killian finds himself nearly vibrating with the frustrated urge to break free from his bonds and put himself between his Swan and this lethal woman. The Queen of Hearts is right beside Emma now, leaning down just slightly to gaze into the younger woman's eyes and trail a manicured finger down the side of her face. Emma merely glares back silently, defiance in every line of her bearing despite how frightened Killian knows she must be inside.

"I'd hate to mar the flawless beauty of such a lovely face," the older woman continues, voice almost a purr and betraying her lie. It's clear from the pleased, anticipatory gleam in her eye that she will love every ounce of torture she inflicts when it comes to that. And Killian Jones – for all his valor, experience, and training – feels despair nearly overwhelm his soul. He knows it will come to that with suddenly startling clarity. Neither he, nor he suspects Emma, will break and give these two fiends any information. This is all a twisted game to their captors; neither of them is meant to see the light of day again, regardless of how they respond from here on out. Robert Gold and Cora Mills intend to learn anything useful their captives might know first, however. Even if Emma survives, even if he finds some way to save her – he doesn't spare a thought for his own life now – she isn't going to leave here unscathed. His heart breaks knowing it, but he steels his resolve once more.

Killian watches, biding his time, waiting for even the slightest momentary slip on these villains' part. Something has to happen to turn the tides just a bit in their favor. Fate surely cannot be so cruel a third time. He lets out a soft sigh of relief when Cora turns away from Emma slightly, seeming to have shifted her focus for the moment without doing Swan any injury. She practically leers across the space between them at Jones as she speaks once more. "Of course, I would expect no less from a consort of yours, Agent Jones. I've always thought it quite a shame that someone as sinfully handsome as you was so stalwartly loyal to the good guys." She practically simpers at him, teasing mercilessly and thoroughly enjoying herself.

Killian clenches his jaw, practically grinding his teeth, before biting out his reply. "That really has no bearing on the matter. I'd have no interest in being near a sadistic witch like yourself regardless."

"Oh!" she bursts out, a wide, Cheshire cat smile on her face as she practically dances with glee. "Sadistic, am I?" She turns back toward Emma, gloating at him over her shoulder as he and Emma both tense, realizing his mistake and what could be coming. "You haven't seen anything yet."

The woman grips Emma's chin in a firm hand, holding her face still as she curls in the pointer finger of her other hand, exposing the jagged point of the ring she wears, a cruel metal claw, and without another pause, draws it down the side of Emma's face from temple to jaw line, tearing the skin open as she goes. Killian can see Emma's body tremble and she whimpers lowly before clamping her mouth closed, but she doesn't cry out. Her wide eyes fly to his, and he dares not even blink, desperately trying to impart every bit of strength and support to her that he can, viciously proud that she won't let them see her beg – even as he mentally berates himself for provoking their foe to Emma's harm.

Cora Mills finally stands up straight, pulls away from Emma slightly and drops her grasp, letting Emma's head fall forward and allowing his Swan to turn her face away. The dark older woman removes the wickedly sharp ring and flicks it carelessly onto the table between them, Emma's blood dripping onto the table surface beneath it. "Will you still find her so irresistible when I've finished with her?" the villainess taunts.

"If you mean to torture me, do so," Killian speaks softly but firmly, anger so beyond anything he has ever felt that he has gone beyond rage to a deadly still calm. "Deal with me directly and stop playing games."

"Oh," another sinister voice breaks in coolly as Gold moves around from behind Killian into his view, "your turn will certainly come. You've been a nuisance on my tail for years, and it is long past time you were dealt with. But Miss Swan is the one with power to really hurt my operation at present. Ms. Mills has been a valued partner for some time now, and I find it pays to let her have her fun."

Seething inside, Killian strains once more against the ropes holding him down. He knows it's no use, but there is nothing else he can do at present. "You may be more powerful now, you filthy demon," Killian vows, his voice as still and deadly as Gold's has ever been, his piercing blue eyes chips of ice frozen in hate, "but even demons can be killed. I will find a way."

Gold chuckles in assured disbelief and has the gall to pat Killian on the shoulder as if the agent has told a joke to entertain him. "We shall see," he replies carelessly. "We shall see."

He and Cora leave them then, warning that they will return shortly to begin true questioning. The moment the door closes behind their tormentors and he and Emma are alone again, Killian turns repentant eyes on her, wanting to beg her to forgive him the injury he has inadvertently prompted.

Those green eyes of hers look to him just as immediately, somehow showing no anger or blame. In fact, she is looking at him as if to drink in every detail of his face, as if he's her last shred of hope to which she can cling. "I'm alright, Killian," she whispers before he can even voice the question.

"I am so sorry, Swan," he whispers, wanting nothing more than to caress her, soothe her, and tend to the still bleeding wound on her face. Instead he gives her all he can, his solemn vow. "But I will see you out of this, Emma. We will find a way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~00000000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That same night, though several hours have passed – too many for Ruby Lucas, who knows all too well what could be happening to Killian and Emma in the meantime - back at the local Arcadia police station, Ruby has spoken to David on the phone and anxiously awaits her superior and a select few of her fellow agents' arrival so they can move forward. Henry is curled in the same large rolling office chair with her, tight against her side , clinging to her shirt as if he fears she too will vanish if he lets her out of his sight. Ruby strokes a gentle hand over his soft brown hair and bends her head to give him a light peck at the crown of his in what she prays is a reassuring gesture. She can't even imagine how upsetting and horrible this must be for a child; she is an adult in a job that anticipates danger and cruelty, and she is still so tense and worried right now that she feels she might explode at the pressure.

With a deep sigh, Ruby lets her shoulders slump and leans forward with a sigh, brushing a hand back through her own hair as she stares at the computer screen before her dejectedly. Her hope that tracking Killian's phone might give them some lead on where he and Emma had been taken seems to have reached a dead end. The cell stopped showing signs of movement on the screen some time ago, near an abandoned warehouse not far from the fair's midway. The police have already swept the structure and come up with nothing. Obviously, his cell was dumped by Gold and his cronies not long after Killian was taken. Another worthless trail, and it makes Ruby want to tear her hair out. Crime scene is seeking clues and trace evidence, of course, but she knows better than to depend on them finding much. There has to be something she can do; sitting and waiting is slowly making her crazy.

A few endless-seeming minutes tick by as Ruby waits anxiously for some sign, some lead, some order to follow and help her partner one way or another, while Henry sniffles softly and she feels his tense little body start to loosen and lean toward sleep as the evening grows later. She is just thinking that she should find some place in this squad that is quiet enough for him to sleep when a tentative knock sounds behind her on the doorframe to the office that she has taken over. The brunette agent turns carefully, trying not to rouse Henry too much from what little comfort he can find while he rests.

"Hello?" a soft voice asks kindly, belonging to a petite, auburn-haired woman peering into the room with a gentle smile. "You're Agent Lucas, right?" the woman continues, taking a step closer and giving her a small smile. She is dressed in a pretty skirt and cardigan set, with ridiculously high heeled but adorably stylish shoes, and she crosses and uncrosses her arms around her middle anxiously, as if worried about disturbing Ruby's work.

Ruby forces her tense face into what she hopes will resemble a smile. "Yes, that's me," she affirms with a nod.

"Oh good," the other woman says, ducking her head a bit awkwardly with a nervous little chuckle. "I'm Belle. I work the phone switchboards," she goes on to explain with a shrug. "They called us a moment ago to say that your boss, SSA Nolan, just landed at the airport and is enroute here. I figured you would want to be able to meet with him immediately and get out there looking for your partner upon his arrival. I wanted to offer to let Henry stay with me in my office. It's just me in there, and it's totally safe and quiet. If you want?"

Ruby gives Belle the first really genuine smile she's had since finding Killian's message. "That's really nice of you, Belle. I was just wondering where I could make him comfortable now that he's fallen asleep. At the same time, he pretty much hasn't let go of me since we realized his mom was gone. I'm afraid if I leave him with someone he doesn't know, he'll wake up and be even more scared."

The sweet young woman nods her understanding and starts to back out of the room. "That's fine. I get it. I just wanted to offer. I wish you luck finding his mother and your partner."

Before Belle can retreat however, Ruby calls her back. "I do need to be free to go with Agent Nolan when he arrives though..." She shifts stiff and too-long-cramped muscles and then stands, picking Henry up in her arms as she does so. She motions Belle forward with her head, indicating that she intends to follow. "Maybe if I take him there now, wake him up enough to let him know what's going on and introduce you two, it will be alright."

Belle grins broadly, clearly pleased that she can be of some help and quite possibly as charmed by Henry's adorability as Ruby had been on first sight. They wind through the halls of the building until they reach the nondescript door of what Belle dubs her 'communications den'. She ushers Ruby into the warm space, decorated in cheery yellows and all sorts of book lover's memorabilia and daintily painted teacups on the random spare surfaces. Ruby bites her lip not to show her moment's amusement at the innocent and girly décor for such a serious workplace, but in the next moment feels badly for making assumptions and reassured that this will be a welcoming, nonthreatening place for Henry while she has to be away from him.

Thirty minutes later, by the time David plows into the room at full speed, Henry is awake once more and has made Belle his fast friend. The sweetly comforting woman has rummaged some instant hot cocoa from a cupboard and microwaved it for him before presenting it to him in the teacup she dubs her favorite. He is chortling happily and playing with the mini marshmallows Belle used to top the drink off when Ruby's superior arrives.

"CSU found something!" David barks without preamble, knowing that every moment is precious at this point and that Ruby will be as anxious for any sort of lead as he has been. "We may have caught a break, and we need to get out there."

"You got it," Ruby nods, immediately snapping to attention and all business. She hesitates just a moment, turning back to give Henry a small smile. "Be good for Belle, okay?" she whispers, ruffling his hair and hugging him tight. "We're gonna go get your mom, and Killy too."

He holds onto her tightly for a heart stopping moment when Ruby fears she is going to have to push him away and leave him, but then the little boy lets go and looks back at her solemnly, in a way that allows Ruby to suddenly see exactly what Emma has meant all those times her friend talked about her little boy being wise beyond his years. He nods then, as if he understands, and when Ruby looks back over her shoulder as she slips out the door, Henry blows her a guileless kiss and waves goodbye. She knows she shouldn't have made him such a confident promise. Emma and Killian could be severely injured, or even dead, after so many hours have passed, but she can't bring herself to regret giving a little boy hope. She will just have to make sure she can follow through on her words.


	16. Chapter Fifteen:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as fair warning: I don't think it is graphic enough to warrant a rating change for the whole story, but there is more violence in this chapter than I usually write. I don't think it will upset anyone; jury's still out on how successfully I managed it anyway. Yet, I wanted to give readers a heads-up just in case. Better safe than sorry…)

_ Chapter Fifteen: What We Stand to Lose _

Emma Swan honestly isn't sure whether she dreads the return of their two shadowy captors or wishes for it to put her out of the anxious misery of waiting. She certainly does not welcome more pain, nor the guilt that injury to her clearly causes Killian, but sitting helpless and wondering when no out is available to her is horrifying in its own right. The jagged gash along the side of her face stings and burns painfully though she tries not to visibly react in front of Jones. Still, it nearly pulses with every beat of her heart as her blood pounds erratically.

She looks up and across the table at him once more, trying to steel herself for whatever is coming at them next and to draw strength from his flinty resolve. She may not have always been on the right side of the law in her life, she might not be high class with a good name, or even have been doing a job that most people would consider respectable and upstanding, but Emma has no intention of caving to these reprobates to save her own skin. That is not how she works first of all, but she has also seen the seedy underbelly of the world for most of her life. She has learned through painful experience that dealing with rough and dangerous people is likely to get one burned. She could promise not to testify, she could tell them everything about Killian, Ruby, and the FBI's plans to protect her and get her to the trial safely, but even if she would be so cowardly as to betray those who have tried so hard to protect her, Emma knows better than to cling to any naïve delusions. Gold has no plans to let her leave here, not unless he is absolutely certain she cannot speak to incriminate him in any way. Shuddering at that thought, and just how far a heartless mob boss might be willing to go to incapacitate a witness against him, she shakes the lingering cobwebs of doubt and worry from her mind. Licking her bottom lip, forcing herself to speak and even attempt to sound lighthearted, she asks, "You still with me over there, Jones?" while giving him a crooked smirk.

"Aye, Lass," he mumbles, shooting her a reassuring smile and an arch of the brow as he speaks, holding her gaze just long enough to ignite a spark of hope in her chest and an improbable flare of heart in her belly, both despite their current dire straits. "Hang in there, eh Love?" he continues, as she notices him twisting and pulling an arm against its confines.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, equal measures concerned and curious as she shoots a nervous glance toward the closed door the two criminals had exited and then back to what her protector is doing, leaning forward to see better in the dim light.

He speaks low, gruffly, most of his concentration on his movements more than his words. "The binding feels a mite looser on this arm. I'm trying to shimmy or stretch enough slack to either slip my arm out or break the rope," he grits quietly enough so that Emma has to strain her ears to catch his words and surely anyone outside the room attempting to listen in would be hard pressed to overhear.

She nods, trying not to let an anxious thrill at the possibility overtake her. She needs to stay calm, unmoving, and not give away his attempts if they are somehow being observed. "What can I do?" she asks after a moment, willing her voice to remain steady and composed.

"Nothing yet, Swan," he replies, and she can see that he is indeed managing to work some slack into his bonds. She draws in a tight, deep breath, almost mesmerized as she watches his painstaking progress, both their lives quiet possibly hanging in the balance. When he speaks again, the lilt that sounds somehow endearingly comforting, even through the gritted strain, and she almost jolts as it pulls her back into the moment. "But if this works, as soon as I get you free, be ready to run like hell."

She chuckles, though it sounds tense and nervous to her own ears, but Killian makes no comment, quite possibly because there is clearly good reason for her state. Though she says nothing else out loud, Emma finds herself silently praying for his success, and as quickly as it can be managed.

It almost appears as though Killian's arm will break free on his next pull, and she is choking back an exclamation of relief, when the door flies open on its hinges once more, swinging wide on creaking metal like a movie thriller cliché. Jerking to stare at their tormenters and several back-up lackeys besides as they re-enter the room, Emma hopes she has not been so avidly watching Killian's motions as to draw attention to them. Instead, she recklessly bargains to draw their attention to herself in a gamble that he may soon be loose and able to spring a surprise on their foes. She draws in a breath to speak and thinks for a fleeting, hysterical moment that she wishes she had told him how she feels one more time – just in case they don't get out, just in case this backfires on her in ways she cannot even guess.

"Hey!" she calls out. "Back so soon? Can't you find any other way to entertain yourselves?" She smirks with mocking sweetness at them, and when Gold's eyes gleam coldly and Cora Mills' cruel smile splits her face, Emma knows she has their full attention, just as she intended – even if that cause her stomach to bottom out in fear.

She hears Killian suck in a harsh breath at her words, voice rasping as he spits, "What are you doing?!" at her behind their backs.

However, Gold merely hisses his response silkily, moving closer to Emma than he has up until this point. "Do you seriously think it wise to antagonize me?" he queries, the threat clear in his voice.

Emma wills herself not to blink or drop her eyes, but to meet his stare defiantly.

In the next instant, both of the villain's hands are clamped around her throat, squeezing like a vice until she cannot draw in a single breath. Struggling, floundering, but hardly able to move a muscle, tied down as she is, black spots begin to swim in Emma's vision as time stretches on, and her surroundings blur at the edges. Vaguely, as if through a tunnel, she can hear Killian roaring at Gold, hurling imprecations and trying alternately to goad the beast into attacking him instead.

With an insidious smile, Gold's grip suddenly releases her, just as Emma knows she was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Instead, she is awake and aware to watch in horror as the monster of a man before her, moving so quickly she gasps in surprise, whirls and swings his cane, whipping it around with deadly precision for the gold-topped, heavy grip to strike Killian across the face with a crack. Emma can literally hear the impact along with the whoosh of air that escapes Killian unbidden, causing him to momentarily slump in his bindings. They will be lucky if a blow like that didn't shatter his cheekbone.

Gold is on him before Killian can recover himself or his bravado, fists a handful of that thick, soft, black hair Emma loves to run her hands through, turning her stomach now as the heartless fiend uses it to jerk Killian's head back up and sneer into his face. "Don't go weak on me now, Dearie. We're only getting started." With a laugh that sets Emma's every nerve to jangling in alarm, Gold swings once more and lands a satisfying punch to Killian's gut.

Tied up as he is, Killian cannot dodge the blow nor shield his softer organs from the assault. She can tell it was a heavy hit from the grunt of pain that flies past Jones's lips on impact and the way his body instinctively attempts to curl in on itself in protection. Emma can only stare in revulsion as Gold steps back and allows the burly thugs he brought in with him to take over raining blows on the man she loves. Their punches land on the disarmed and bound agent like rain, battering indiscriminately over his chest, stomach and ribs.

To her terror and disgust, Emma loses count of how many times Killian has been hit the moment his sturdy form seems to slump forward, limp enough that he would fall to the floor if he were not tied to his chair. When the sinister little man steps into the melee again, forcing his henchmen to fall back and plants a ringed fist into Killian's nose with a sickening crack, Emma can no longer silence the hysterical scream that tears itself from her throat. "Stop it!" she begs, desperate and panting wildly. "Please, stop! You're going to kill him!"

Gold turns to peer at her with twisted amusement. "Precisely," he murmurs in a voice soft and deadly, his expression reflecting sadistic delight at her obvious fear. "I want to silence you both. Permanently."

Killian tries to raise his head and gaze at her, one eye already beginning to blacken and swell shut, blood dripping from what is likely a broken nose, and even though the panic within her has begun to crest at the shady kingpin's answer, the glint of Killian's eyes darkening to midnight in anger and determination is unreasonably comforting. Growling low in his throat, Jones still manages to sound menacing to her ears when he warns Gold, "Don't count your victory too soon. I'm not dead yet."

Emma cringes, ready for the beating to continue at Killian's show of rebellion and already turning her head and closing her eyes tightly, unable to watch him be hurt any more, even if she cannot avoid hearing the hits land. Unfortunately, her instinctive movement is brought to a halt at a nod from Gold himself. Icy cold and grasping fingers clutch her face, hold her firmly and force her to continue facing forward. Nails dig into her skin, and Emma knows it is Cora Mills who holds her still.

"Take a nice long look, Sweetie," the horrible viper croons in her ear, her false brightness dripping poison and making Emma's skin crawl. "Trust me when I say you won't even recognize him by the time they finish."

"Actually," Gold intones, stepping inexorably closer to her as he does so, nearer than he has come thus far. "I think our old friend Agent Jones may learn more from this lovely lady's punishment than his own." When the living embodiment of a demon leans close enough to look her right in the face and reaches out to run a finger along a soft strand of her hair, Emma cannot hold back the shudder that runs through her, despite how desperately she aches to appear strong. She cannot move a single muscle of her own accord, her body locking down against her beyond her being tied up. "This time the man may finally learn that opposing me only gains him more pain and the loss of yet another person he loves."

Emma's breath is coming in harsh pants now, her chest rising and falling as if trying to survive a marathon. She only just manages not to make a sound or cry out as Gold strikes her hard across the face. Her head rings even though it cannot fall to the side as it would if she were free. Nearly biting through her own lip to hold in the groan of pain that wants to escape, she forces herself to glare back into those unfeeling, reptilian eyes.

The older man shakes his head as if puzzled by her, insidious lies winding around dizzily in her brain. "It didn't have to be this way," he tsks with seeming dismay. "If you hadn't run to the police you would be free right now. You would be safe with your boy at this very moment if you had not planned to testify against me."

Suddenly and inexplicably, rage and helplessnees and unstoppable adrenaline rise in Emma until she simply erupts. Seeing Graham's lifeless body fall to the floor in a seedy Vegas back room, the terrified run through the night with Henry thinking monsters are on their trail, sets her to practically vibrating with anger. A quick flurry of further horrors plays over her mind in just a few short seconds: losing her one distinguishing feature to her new identity, calling her son by a name that isn't his in order to keep him safe, the fear that gripped her the afternoon Henry hadn't met Ruby after school, and the denial she and Killian had put each other through, all the way to the pain she has just seen him endure for her sake. It all culminates in one jarring crescendo to make her reckless enough to throw her all her fears, all her losses, all the suffering and worry she has borne in the past several months and in the life she has scraped together ever since leaving jail at eighteen, back into the face of this monster. The whole world has continually crushed her, trying to hold her down, trying to take and take and take, no matter how she fights back. This psychopath before her is the worst by far, but he is also only the last in a long line, and Emma finally snaps – beyond all caution or reason. "Do you honestly think I would simply play along? That I would continue to aid those who killed the first person who ever cared anything for me?! I would never have knowingly been part of your organization to begin with – no matter what you do to me now."

The villain actually takes a step back, as if stunned at someone countering him in such a manner. Without thinking, still almost out of her head in anger, Emma spits in his face. They are doomed anyway, and she truly has nothing to lose.

No one moves, or even seems to breathe, for one endless, strained minute. Killian's eyes across the room widen in a strange mixture of disbelief, pride, and helpless fear for her, and Emma finds that torn expression on his battered, achingly handsome face to be what brings her back to herself and shakes her to the core.

"You might just live long enough to regret that," Gold seethes, his voice choked with fury before he turns away, nodding to Cora for her to step back as well. The next thing Emma knows, Gold is handing a glittering, dagger-like knife to his second in command and the woman beings to stalk around Emma's chair as if sizing her up for the most vulnerable place to strike.

When Cora Mills attacks, it is like the first savage dart of a rattlesnake, swift and lethal, and the pure, unexpected savagery of it does make Emma cry out against her will. The blade slices into her side, severing skin and sinew.

Jones is bellowing, cursing bloody murder and rocking the entire chair he is bound to as he tries to get loose and come between Emma and the Queen of Hearts before she is wounded any further. The harsh metal next tears up her arm, laying it open to what feels for Emma nearly to the bone. Another stab in quick succession pierces her thigh, plunging into the muscle, and then she is unable to help herself, screaming and also hearing herself as if she's listening to some other person's torment.

Only when the sadistic viper moves in closer, do her movements grow slower and more deliberate as she puts the knife to Emma's collarbone, slashing through the sweater she wears and baring her chest in merely a thin tank top. Cora allows the edge of steel to trace dangerously along her captive's skin, as if flirting with this last bit of violence, the moment she has been truly, sickly craving all along. In a blinding shot of clarity, Emma knows why this woman must be called the Queen of Hearts, and that she is truly and absolutely about to meet her end.

A howl of raw animal frenzy meets her ears, just as they also register the sound of splintering wood and a heavy chair crashing to the floor. Killian has somehow finally gotten himself loose from his bindings through gargantuan, dogged effort, and he flings himself across the space between, too rapidly to be stopped, bowling over Gold in his way and going straight for Cora Mills before she can cut into Emma's flesh again.

Though it takes them a moment, Gold's hired thugs snap into action quickly. They are on Killian before he can reach Cora and soon hold him, still kicking and bucking murderously, between three of them.

"Bring him over here," Gold seethes, levering himself to his feet and limping forward to stand beside the table. He smooths back his longish graying hair and straightens his rumpled suit jacket in an attempt to regain his poise. When he stands beside his men and the struggling agent, his next instruction is deathly cold and grim. "Hold his arm over the table and keep it still," he orders.

Leaning more heavily on his cane than before, Gold moves to a darkened corner of the room and returns with a heavy mallet, hanging like a looming threat from his hand. Despite it taking all of the Gold's extra brutes to restrain him and keep him still, Killian is inextricably held immobile now, his left arm forced straight out in front of him and flat against the surface of the table.

Emma can see what is coming from where she sits, unable able to move or help or make this play out any other way. In fact, the entire scene wavers in and out of focus before her eyes, almost certainly due to the blood seeping from her side and arm and pouring from the stab wound in her thigh. She forces herself to look in Killian's face, to stay present here with him, not to desert him to bear this alone. Clinging to consciousness for his sake, even if it makes the last thing she sees the stuff of nightmares.

Unerringly, Killian turns his gaze to hers, the beautiful blue of his eyes breaking her heart as surely as they have ever enchanted her. "Emma," he breathes in a strangled whisper. "I failed you…I am so sorry, Love."

Gold chuckles at the agony both in his voice and written over Emma's face. "Agent Jones, let this teach you once and for all to keep your hands out of other peoples' business. If you could have left well enough alone years ago, you would have saved yourself – and her – so much pain and suffering."

Emma has to close her eyes against those words for a moment, knowing Killian's pain has been made even worse with the extra heaping of guilt. But she jerks them open again at the desperate whine she hears escape Killian's throat quietly as he strains to move, to strike back, to get free – anything – and nothing happens. Vowing again that she will not fail him, even if all she can do is be his witness no matter what comes.

She sees Gold raise the heavy instrument, sees it fall through the air in an inexorable arch of doom, and tries to breathe through the panic upon impact as it crushes Killian's hand, landing with an unspeakably sickening sound. A guttural, unearthly keen of animal suffering spills from Killian that is almost unrecognizable as human, so wrenching that Emma cannot bear it silently.

"Killian!" she cries out, not sure if he is aware of her, or of anything but the pain. She has no other words, no way to spare him or even to reach him, but has to call out to him, has to tell him she is with him. "Killian, I'm sorry too! Killian! Please!"

She hears at least two more splattering thuds strike the table solidly, knowing his hand is still caught in between, along with the stomach-turning squelch as the mallet is pulled away each time. There is some sort of a huffing, wheezing struggle for breath lost between the inhuman whimpers and her own desperate pleas.

Though people move in and out of her line of sight, blocking Killian from her view, Emma can see that his hand is a bloody pulp, and wonders dumbly if he will ever use it again – if they somehow manage to escape this hell. Emma refuses to look at the ruin again, seeking Killian's face instead. But the sightless eyes that greet hers, his face blank and unseeing, shows her that physical shock is already setting in, shakes her to her very core, and unmoors her from the last bit of security she was clinging to.

Killian Jones does not move or make a sound when Emma strains futilely to reach out for him one more time. Suddenly, the Queen steps in to block her view and she feels the sharp, rending pain of the dagger in her chest. So much red floods her vision – from Killian and from her – that everything goes hazy but for the rush of crimson and darkness closing in. She is barely aware when a loud pounding, the heavy tread of footsteps, and the door to the hidden basement being pushed in, sounds. By the time Ruby reaches Emma's side calling her name insistently and seeking a pulse, and David Nolan rushes to Killian, gun still drawn and held at the ready, Emma has already closed her eyes and floated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Okay, so I didn't want to put this at the front of the chapter and spoil what was going to happen, but I apologize for Gold finding a way to maim Killian, even in a modern, non-magical AU. I can't really help where the muse leads me; it was in the plot plan from the start, though very hard to actually write when I got to it! If you want to blame anything, blame the movie "Casino" that I was goaded into watching much too young. It had a scene where something like this happened to someone's hand and it scarred me for life!)


	17. Chapter Sixteen: For the Sake of His Love

_ Chapter Sixteen: For the Sake of his Love _

Killian Jones does not wake easily when consciousness returns to him nearly 36 hours later in a cold, sterile hospital room. Muzzy-headed and lost, he peers around, squinting against even the small light of one bedside lamp after so long lost to the world, wondering where he is and what happened, trying to remember what shock has buried for his own protection. As several minutes pass, shards of memory trickle back into his mind with horrifying and startling clarity.

When he remembers being held down and seeing Cora shove the dagger into Emma's tender chest, he shudders, making an incoherent noise and tossing weakly, but it is enough to bring a soothing hand to rest on his shoulder.

Ruby's concerned face appears, leaning over to smile at him gently as her hand trails from his shoulder down to brush his arm lightly. "Kil, you scared us," she breathes, eyes falling closed for a moment before she gazes back into her partner's face once more. "You don't even know how glad I am to see you awake."

"Mmphh…" Killian again tries to speak, his voice thick and hampered by the confusion that lingers, "I – I don't…"

"Shh," Ruby soothes, pressing her hand on his arm, still soft but holding him still as well, cautioning him to take it slowly. "It's okay. I've already sent for the doctor. He'll explain, just stay calm."

The tension and worry in his partner's eyes, and her obvious fear for him to get too upset, tell Killian there is more she isn't telling him. It clenches a knot of fear in the bottom of his stomach, only one thing he has to know now, that he manages to get out. "E-Emma?"

Ruby understands him easily, however garbled his words and gives a terse nod, though she also looks over her shoulder for the doctor's arrival, as if not wanting to tell him something she is still holding back. With a sigh, she responds lowly. "Emma's here too. Take it easy, Kil. I mean it. You lost a lot of blood and need to stay still. Everything will be alright, okay? I promise."

At his partner's reassurance, Killian finds himself blinking and swallowing a lump in his throat, a swell of emotion that startles him. But he takes Ruby at her word and trusts her. In that spirit, he goes to raise his hand to squeeze hers reassuringly, but when he tries, nothing moves.

Alarmed, his gaze falls sharply to Ruby's hand on his arm first, and then farther down. He sees for the first time that his forearm is encased in a pressure cuff and is also secured against any movement. However, what truly shocks him, makes him stare in revulsion, unable to accept what he sees, and his stomach roll, is that his arm ends abruptly at the wrist. There is nothing there beyond the cast. His hand is gone.

Now that he has seen it, Killian can't look away; though it doesn't add up, and will not make sense. He feels as though he is caught up in some exploitative horror film. Bile rises in his throat, his whole body going hot, then cold, and the room spinning wildly before his eyes. A vortex of panic and disgust threatens to suck him down until he hears Ruby's worried voice calling him back to reality and then feels strong, unfamiliar hands – which must be the doctor's – grasping his shoulders bracingly.

"Agent Jones?" a steady, almost emotionless voice asks brusquely, clearly trying to break through his anxiety without causing further alarm. "Agent Jones! Can you hear me? I would hate sedate you, but you need to focus. Take deep breaths for me. There you are…that's it." The voice becomes less demanding, and therefore less antagonistic to Killian once he does manage to focus on the wiry, sandy-headed man in a white lab coat now leaning over him and taking his vitals.

Killian forces himself to try slower breaths, fixing his mind on a steady in-and-out rhythm, much like some of the coping techniques he was taught years ago while still a rookie at the academy.

"Now that I have your attention," the doctor continues, his voice surer as he smiles down at Killian in a way that feels a bit insincere but competent and relatively harmless. "I'm Dr. Whale," the man tells him. "You were brought in around seven in the evening, the night before last, already in an extreme stage of shock. At first, you were unresponsive – nearly catatonic – then something set you off. We're still not sure what, and you went into some kind of violent fit before you collapsed and lost consciousness."

Killian's eyes narrow at this new helping of information, not at all liking the picture it paints of him, or knowing how much time was lost when he didn't know where or how Emma was. He wants to growl at this oily physician, already under his skin just with his unperturbed, matter-of-fact delivery, but Jones knows without doubt that none of the glowering or snapping that might have usually cowed others and made them jerk to attention would have any effect in the near future. He is weak as a newborn kitten, and knows he must look it as well. Heaving a sigh, that is arrested halfway by a shuddering cough, he attempts to resign himself to this doctor and the pace assigned for him. Trying to speak with his eyes of his need to be up, on the mend, to know what is happening with his charge and see her for himself, he is relieved at last by Whale's next statement. "Since you're awake, and your vitals appear normal, I can attempt to explain what's happened since your arrival and answer any further questions you may have."

Ruby squeezes her way back into Killian's line of sight, clutching his arm in her small hand and pressing her support into his skin. He focuses on her warm, caring brown eyes and encouraging smile. He gratefully accepts the cup of water his partner tilts to his lips the very second she offers it. After gulping down a cool drink that feels like pure paradise, he clears his throat with a wince and raggedly makes his voice croak out the words, "Where is my hand? What happened to it?"

Dr. Whale shows the first true glimmer of regret his face has reflected so far at these words. His eyes flick to his feet, then over to Ruby, who nods either to convince the doctor that Killian can handle the truth or that there is no other option, Killian can't be sure which, and then the other man is once more returning Killian's stare head on. "Your hand had sustained such devastating injury that repair was not feasible," Dr. Whale explains at last, a slump of defeat to his shoulders. "The muscle, bone, and tendons had been so thoroughly crushed that the hand would never have regained function. With that sort of massive injury and that much paralyzed portion of limb, there is too great a risk of infection in the narrowed blood vessels to leave the remaining limb attached. We had to amputate, Agent Jones."

Sensing the apologetic pity in the doctor's eyes, Jones brushes it aside gruffly, giving a curt nod of understanding even as he has to look away for a moment, turn his face from both of them to regain control. The hideous sight, to himself at least, of the ruined arm lying at his side doesn't fade; however, he has to close his mind against the knowledge that Emma has already seen it while he was unaware, and may have been so disgusted that she couldn't stay here with him. A larger part of him wants to believe when his conscience whispers that cannot be true, he knows her better than that, but it is overwhelmed once more by the wave of nausea that hits him as soon as he catches another glimpse of his own handless wrist, heaving ineffectually with nothing to bring up.

Clamping his jaw, Killian drags in several breaths through his nose and again forces himself to calm. Looking past the doctor to Ruby, he asks in a relatively steady, if rasping, voice. "Where is Emma? Is she alright? I…I need to see her."

Ruby clearly understands, not showing any of the maddening pity or condescension that the physician had exhibited, and that Killian suddenly knows with startling clarity he will be receiving from others for the rest of his life. Nodding, she offers him the information he needs most. "They think she'll be fine, Kil. You know I wouldn't lie to you, right? By the time she got here, her pulse was thready, and she was slipping in and out of consciousness. Apparently, when they thought she was stabilized she almost crashed again. That was when they found that one of her arteries had been nicked and she was bleeding internally as well. They put her under to repair it, but with the blood loss, the shock and strain, they've kept her in an artificially induced coma. They needed to make sure she didn't wake up and become upset or agitated until her body had enough time to heal. They especially wanted to be sure you would come around before they had to report something of that nature to her, if it could be avoided. Last time I was down in her room, they were talking about easing off the meds tonight and letting her body start to naturally regain awareness."

Killian digests all of this silently, pain constricting his chest at the thought of Emma both so seriously injured and so distraught as well, not to mention now lying unconscious somewhere in this drab, impersonal building.

"Is someone with her?" he murmurs brokenly, eyes closed against the crushing guilt and shame that he isn't there for her, can't do her any good at present as broken as he is himself. "Where's Henry?" he then adds, picturing the lad's innocent, sweet face and hating that he has seen such harsh cruelty and nearly lost his mother to it.

"Hey," Ruby soothes quietly, only nodding her understanding to the doctor when the man says he must leave to make his rounds and will return within the hour. "Henry's safe. I was with him in Emma's room until I came up here to see you. His teacher is there sitting with him. Miss Blanchard – Mary's her first name – the one he was with when I didn't find him at school that day, remember?"

Killian nods, affirming that he does, but Ruby must see that he is not sure how the teacher got involved again, so she explains further. "David and I wanted to handle Gold's – and Cora Mills' – interrogations personally. There's not much they can argue or deny, since we caught them in the act after all. They aren't going anywhere until their trial. Still, we couldn't leave Henry by himself. One of the local PD's techs was looking after him, but she went back on duty, so we called Miss Blanchard. She seemed so genuinely concerned for him when we'd met before, and she was in this instance too. She came within the hour. It was David's idea, actually. Henry looked so happy to see her, and she's been sitting with him ever since. David's been guarding the door himself."

It feels as though gravel is rattling through his windpipe when Killian tries once again to respond after he thoughtfully takes in all Ruby has told him. Gritting his teeth, he gets his words out, despite his tender throat. "I need to go to her, Ruby," he says firmly, determination in his tone and on every line of his face. "I have to see with my own eyes that she's still alive and that she's safe. I couldn't keep her out of their clutches, but I need to be there now, to let her know how sorry I am, and that she will not be hurt anymore. I just have to…" his voice trails off here, no other argument left him but his imperative need.

Ruby squeezes his arm once more in reassurance. "I'm going to ask a nurse or someone, alright? Stay calm until I come back. We'll get you to her; just let me find out what we need."

"Thank you, Ruby," he husks, eyes holding hers in sincere gratitude until Ruby is swallowing back a lump in her own throat. "A man couldn't ask for a better partner."

"You know it," she finally manages to joke in return with a cockeyed grin, even if her voice is a bit breathier than usual and her eyes more than a little misty. She winks, and then slips out the door and is gone. Killian settles in to wait, hoping it won't be long before he can look on Emma with his own eyes.

~~~~~~000000000000~~~~~~~~~00000000000~~~~~~~~~~

As it turns out, Killian is cleared to go down to Emma's room for a time, if he consents to stay in a wheelchair the whole while and take things slowly, as long as he first has his supper and can keep it down, then returns to his room before the shift changes for the night. That way he won't be out of bed for more than an hour and overtax his recovering body. Killian, for his part, was willing to agree to any conditions that got him to his Swan's side.

Now gazing down on her pale, lax face – as beautiful as ever, though perfectly calm and still – Killian wants more than anything to never see such fear or pain as he had in that basement cross her features again. Unable to help himself, he reaches out with his right hand to stroke his forefinger down the side of her face gently and then brush her hair back, savoring the feel of the silky strands against his rougher skin.

"Rest easy, Love," he croons in a voice nearly inaudible. There is no one else in the room at present, all of them having filed out to give him a moment alone with her. "Those monsters cannot harm you now. They are locked up, and we will see they stay that way for the rest of their lives. They'll not touch you again, mark my words."

Emma's face does not so much as move, no recognition of his words, no visible reaction, but Killian carries on baring his soul as he leans forward to press the lightest caress of his lips to the scar Cora had marked down her cheek. For one aching moment, he wants to touch the bandaged stump of his wrist to the healing wound in her bandaged chest; needing the contact of their scars as if they could somehow heal one another, but then he quickly recoils, fearing the touch of his blunted arm would frighten or appall her.

"I would do anything to go back and have kept all this pain from you," he continues haltingly, his voice choked with tears he dares not let fall. "I love you, Emma." Stopping to swallow hard, he shakes his head against the conclusion being drawn ever more firmly in his mind. It is a realization he has fought for years, tried to deny for the pain and loneliness it consigns him to, but looking at Emma so still and fragile, bearing the scars of torture that almost took her life, he cannot hold it back any longer. "You're safer without me, Lass. I failed you…just as I failed my mother, Liam, and…and Milah…all those years ago. Anyone I love…anyone who gets too close to me…pays a horrible price. You nearly died as well, and I won't see it happen again. Not this time. I am sorry you will wake and think that I have abandoned you like so many have before, but even if you hate me for what I'm about to do, I will bear that gladly if it means you are alive and well."

Bending with a grimace of pain, Killian presses one last kiss to Emma's forehead, lingering as long as he dares to gaze on her, hoping to memorize her beloved face. Then, he calls for Dave to take him back to his own room, just as his allotted time is running out.

Hours later, when the exhausted night nurses cede to their early morning replacements, when rounds are completed and will not be made again for at least two hours, and all his own people are finally elsewhere and otherwise occupied, Killian Jones makes his move. Knowing he doesn't have much time, he gathers every ounce of his remaining strength, along with his considerable stealth and skill, and slips from the hospital to vanish into the hazy early morning fog. Unsure where he is going or how he will give up the life he has made for himself and those he has come to love, he focuses only on the vow that no one else will pay the ultimate price for daring to love him in return.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: The Lost can be Found

_ Chapter Seventeen: The Lost can be Found _

_ Emma hears his voice in her sleep. Even if she is not fully aware, some part of her feels the soft, gentle touch of his hand as Jones leans over her, desperate to see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, and brushes her hair back tenderly while gazing on her face to memorize every line. She doesn't understand and shifts restlessly, but she cannot seem to wake. Somewhere in the haze of recovery, meds, shock, and injury she wants to surface, to answer him and make certain that he is really there, alive and healing after what they went through, but her body will not yet follow her commands. _

_ As Killian bends to lay a soft kiss to her forehead, Emma still remains floating in the clouded half-waking state, hearing but unseeing, merely warmed by the low burr of his accent saying he loves her, begging her to remember it no matter how things might seem. Then it feels as though an icy cold penetrates her soothing bubble. It sounds like he is telling her goodbye… _

~~~~~~~00000000~~~~~~~00000000~~~~~~~~~

It takes several tries for Emma to pry open her eyes upon regaining consciousness and blinking painfully into the light. She draws in a gasp of air, panting in fear, for a moment back into that basement with two monsters, seeing them torture Killian in the last place she had been aware. Her eyes roll wildly, and she starts to shoot forward only to be stopped by her own head spinning dizzily. Falling back against the pillows, Emma struggles to catch her breath. Then, two beloved faces swim into view at her side, and she gradually begins to calm, her vision clearing as she reaches out for Henry's hand and Ruby gives her a welcoming smile.

"Mama!" Henry calls happily, leaning over the rail to lay his head on her shoulder, obviously knowing or having been cautioned not to squeeze or put too much pressure on her punished midsection.

"Hey Baby," she whispers, her voice still weak, joy flooding her and emotional tears welling in her eyes at the feel of her little boy in her arms once again. She wraps him up, if a bit feebly, and rubs her hand over his back in comfort.

"It's good to see you awake, Emma," Ruby speaks up sincerely.

"Thanks," Emma returns with a wan and lopsided grin. "You're a sight for sore eyes yourself."

She merely revels in Henry's presence, and Ruby's too, for a few wonderful, healing moments, but then her brow furrows in confusion and a chill of fear echoes through her. Someone is missing, and unless he was not alright – had he been injured too badly? – she cannot think why Killian wouldn't be here now. Her eyes rise searchingly to meet Ruby's over Henry's downy hair, where he has burrowed into her hold, and asks, her voice breaking with concern and trepidation, "Where's Killian?"

Before Ruby can even answer, Emma sees in his partner's eyes that Killian is gone. What she doesn't know is how or why, and her heart pounds, blood racing through her veins painfully on the rush of panic that gushes through. He cannot be dead; there simply cannot be a twist of fate so cruel as to take his life merely for trying to save her and Henry's. Was he hurt so badly that he has been confined to bed and can't be here? Is he afraid of her seeing what his hand looks like now in the aftermath? Does he blame her and no longer want to be near her after what loving her and trying to shield her have cost him? Breath still wretchedly short, she finds herself almost panting the words as she reaches around Henry's little body to clutch Ruby's forearm desperately, "He isn't…he's not…is he?"

Emma cannot even audibly make her lips form around the word 'dead', but her new friend seems to read her fear and understand what she is trying to ask all the same. Shaking her head quickly until the dark waves fly around her face, Ruby leans forward to take Emma's hand and return the pressure, answering quickly before Emma's mind can fly to any worse scenarios and fears. "No, Emma, he's alive. He's stable, conscious. Other than…" she swallows hard, but then pushes on resolutely, "his hand, they expect him to make a full recovery."

For a moment, Emma simply deflates with relief, sinking back into her pillows and breathing more normally. If he is still alive and fighting, whatever else has happened can be worked through; whatever is keeping him away right now is not permanent. Henry snuggles in closer to her side, tucking his head under her chin and lightly running his little hands over her arm, as if petting her, he's so happy to see her awake again and holding him. She ducks her head and breathes in his clean, sweet, innocent child smell, burying her nose in his fine, soft hair and steadying herself in this little person – the best, good part of her world.

When she raises her eyes to meet Ruby's though, she doesn't miss that something is still troubling the young agent. There is more to be said, and though Emma is growing more and more certain she doesn't want to hear it, she also cannot stop the need to know why this yawning chasm of doubt and unease in her gut still hasn't begun to close.

"Is it his hand? Is he hurt so badly they won't let him out of bed?" she questions, wincing at the very thought of Killian in as much pain as she had seen him in last, well aware of how he would hate feeling useless and having to lie helpless, even if it was what his body needed in order to heal.

Ruby sighs, once more taking the seat near Emma's bed that she had vacated in the excitement of her friend waking up at last. Shaking her head, the brunette avoids Emma's eyes as she begins to speak. It is something that Emma has never known her to do – and the pit of restless worry opens wider, even before Ruby's next words hit home. "Killian's gone, Emma."

Not sure what she had been expecting, but knowing it wasn't that simple declaration, Emma's mouth falls open in disbelief, green eyes scanning Ruby's face as if she has missed some detail and just trying to understand. "What?" she manages to whisper dazedly, so soft she has to clear her throat and try again to be heard. "What do you mean…gone?"

"I mean," Ruby's brow furrows, both her expression and her voice pained at how much she knows this will hurt her charge, and also for her own loss of her best friend, "that he isn't here anymore. He left word for David – Agent Nolan – but not me. Snuck out last night when the rest of us were occupied elsewhere. He knew better than to speak to me about this; I would have knocked some sense into his stubborn, self-sacrificing head," she adds the last on a growl of frustration.

"So he's just…gone?" Emma echoes blindly, tears welling in her eyes without her consent. She had wanted so desperately to see him when she woke, to know that they had both survived their nightmare and were going to be okay. She cannot dwell now on the fact that she should have known better. She isn't worth the losses she has already brought him; of course he had to go now while he still could, leaving her alone again. What causes her more actual, physical pain is imagining him outside of the hospital somewhere – alone, in pain, and vulnerable, having cut himself off from all the help and support he knows.

"For the moment, anyway," Ruby answers, the determined jut of her chin telling Emma that the moment Agent Lucas doesn't have some other responsibility pulling at her, she will be out looking for her partner. It actually eases Emma's mind in some small way. If anyone can find Killian Jones before he manages to put too much space between them, his body gives out, or something even worse happens, it is this woman who knows him like a sibling, who has shared his life and been at his side for years.

Glancing down at Henry quickly, wondering at his silence and lack of questions about his friend 'Killy', Emma sees that he has drifted into a light doze. Knowing that it may be better to finish this conversation while her son is unaware anyway, she wrenches out one more question. "Why?" she rasps.

"I only know what David told me," Ruby says gently, wanting to soften this blow at least, as it will only add to her friend's pain. She is unable to lie to Emma though. "He thinks he failed you – that he didn't do his job of keeping you safe from harm. And now – with his hand – he's convinced he can't be a successful agent anymore. We all know otherwise, but he didn't give us the chance to argue or to convince him of it. He's resigned from the Bureau, and I truly don't know how much luck I'll have tracing him."

Emma nods her understanding, but she cannot bring herself to respond aloud. She doesn't want to accept any of what Ruby has just told her as the truth. Killian simply cannot have walked out of her life without even saying goodbye. He doesn't get to decide who she has in her world, or what is best for her. She needs him…and now more than ever, he needs her too. Gold, and Cora Mills as well, are both in custody. They were caught red-handed, and once she has testified, the trauma and danger will finally be over. She wants nothing more than his arms to fall into at that moment it is done at last. All she can do now is stare back at Ruby desolately, the last of her hope in her eyes and her heart in her throat. "But you'll try?" she nearly pleads.

Ruby's short jerk of a nod is little more than a mask to hide her own emotion.

"When you do find him," Emma won't let herself consider any other outcome, "tell him I need him to come back to me," she whispers, nearly choking as she admits such vulnerability, but hoping that she is giving Ruby the right words for this broken, beautiful man she has grown to love – the words that will ease his soul and return him to her. "Tell him he didn't fail me. He fought for me…like no one ever has before."

~~~~~~~~~~~000000000000~~~~~~~~~00000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henry has long since slipped into a deep enough sleep to last the night through, and Ruby had strode out purposefully, one last knowing look shared between them as she went, when Emma's sleepless, wandering thoughts are interrupted by a light knock on her hospital room's door. Surprised that anyone else would be looking for her, Emma glances up to see the petite, dark-headed Miss Blanchard, Henry's teacher, in the doorway, standing hesitantly as if she hopes to join them, but isn't sure of her welcome.

When Emma smiles lightly and beckons her forward, the sweetly pretty woman beams at her so gratefully that Emma feels her own countenance brightening in response. Ducking her head, the pixie-cute newcomer flushes happily, turning her pale, alabaster cheeks a lovely rose-red. "Are you sure you don't mind my joining you, Ms. Frost?"

Emma shakes her head 'no', honestly glad to have a respite from her melancholy thoughts, and gestures to the chair beside her bed. "Absolutely," she assures softly. "I could use the distraction." She knows that her identity as 'Margaret Frost' is ruined anyway (she has already been told that she will be relocated and given yet another alias and cover once the trial is over) and so she adds sheepishly in a whisper, "And you might as well call me Emma…my real name…for the time being at least."

"Well, in that case it's lovely to see you again, Emma," the schoolteacher answers with a bob of her head and warm, genuine smile. "I'm Mary."

Emma smiles back, glad for the company, but reverting to her usual guarded nature and unsure what to say.

"If we're being completely honest…" Mary adds, suddenly looking at her own hands nervously instead of into Emma's eyes, "I already knew that…David told me."

"Seriously?" Emma asks, surprised the FBI team leader she knows would have disclosed something like that. Then again, she supposes there is nothing it can really hurt at this point if the name she had been using won't be hers much longer anyway. She trusts Agent Nolan, even though she has not spent nearly as much time with him as Killian and Ruby, and believes implicitly that he takes his job with complete seriousness and gravity. If he finds it okay to tell this woman the whole truth, then Emma thinks it probably is. In her gut, she herself has felt since meeting Mary Blanchard that she is trustworthy. Shaking her head, Emma continues with a bit more coherence. "Sorry, I was just taken aback. He seems so set on protocol and making sure everything is done by the book – for our own safety. I didn't mean any offense."

"No, no, none taken," Mary returns, hands fluttering lightly as she brushes off the apology. "I understand. I would never tell another soul anyway. You have my word." Here she meets Emma's eyes and leans forward a bit, her own crystal-clear orbs sparkling with contagious joy and mirth. "The reason David trusts me though, is more than just proof or intuition though."

Emma can't fight the smile she feels creeping onto her mouth, mirroring the one stretched across her new friend's lips. There had been something very like this look on Mary's face the day David had asked them to put her on the phone after Henry was found. Like she had a wonderful secret she simply could not wait to share. "Oh really?" she asks, feigning casual interest, when her curiosity is in truth beginning to get the best of her.

"We knew each other years ago…when we were barely out of our teens. We both lived in Boston then; our parents were part of the same social circle. I came home from my second year of college for Christmas, and we went to this amazing holiday ball at his family's estate. Very fancy and old fashioned…so romantic." She blushes even darker at this, ducking her head to hide giddy embarrassment as she relives the long ago memory. "I had never seen him before, but our eyes met across the room, and then he asked me to dance. It sounds like something out of some silly fairy tale, but I knew right then, that night. And there's never been anyone else for me."

Somewhere in the midst of the recitation, Emma realizes Mary has taken her hands, and she squeezes back with affection, trying to picture such a pleasant growing up, with a family and holiday parties, and a prince riding onto the scene to win her heart. That strikes too close to thoughts of Killian once more and quick pain lances at her chest, but she hides it well and asks, "So what happened? It sounds like he felt the same." Again, she doesn't know David well, but she can't see him leaving Mary behind if he had been equally as affected by their meeting.

"Our parents didn't approve," Mary answers sadly, her voice is a whisper and her eyes look as though they are now seeing scenes from far away play across her mind. "His most especially. Obviously, his marriage wasn't going to be arranged in this day and age, but it had always been a sort of foregone conclusion that he would marry this young woman he had known his whole life, the daughter of his father's business partner. My parents didn't want to be on the bad side of such influential people, and so, when I went back to school in the New Year, they intercepted his letters, didn't deliver his phone messages, and told me that he'd thrown me over, gone back to the girl he had always intended to marry. I never saw David again after that holiday season. But I never forgot him….I'd always wondered…"

"And to think, you found each other again completely by accident…another twist of fate," Emma adds, somewhat awed by the whole story. What were the chances in this crazy, uncaring world that two people would be reunited after so long, and that both would still be unattached and missing the other, perhaps even waiting to find the other again without really knowing it? She would not, even a mere year ago, have been able to imagine such a thing, but she knows now as she looks into Mary Blanchard's face and sees the fulfillment after years of loneliness and yearning, that it must be possible. She will have Killian Jones in her heart for as long as she lives, no matter how hard he tries to stay away for her own good, no matter how long it takes her to find him. He has won her heart, and when this is all over, she will find a way to reach him and make sure he understands.


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Moment of Truth

_ Chapter Eighteen: Moment of Truth _

_ (A few weeks later, the day after Thanksgiving) _

Erratic pulsing light from the street outside his rundown motel room paints Killian Jones' face with bright flashes of color in direct contrast to its otherwise shadowed appearance as he sits in the darkened room, elbows on thighs, glass of rum in hand, brooding over the night as he watches Boston rush by below him unfazed. The hectic beat of the uncaring city ought to allow him the feeling of fading into the background, as if he could roam amongst the crowd of strangers and get lost. He might not be able to put Emma – and Henry – Swan out of his mind, he might have been undeniably impelled to follow the two of them, along with his former supervisor and partner back across the country when they left to prep for the trial, but with time he had hoped to feel a bit less raw, a bit less ripped wide open and exposed to everyone around him.

Sadly, Killian feels no less obvious, no less as if everyone he passes is staring at the bandaged stump where his left hand had been. He knows that if he had stayed in the hospital and allowed himself to be treated properly, he would have been fitted with a prosthetic – still will be he supposes, though he cannot bring himself to feel it will make much difference – once he had been through therapy, reconstruction, and who knew what else. He also realizes he has done himself a disservice by leaving the hospital before he was cleared and slipping off on his own. He suffered through excruciating pain those first few days, along with frightening bouts of alternating weakness and nausea, and one true scare with inflammation that had sent him crawling back to a different hospital for a time, but he shouldered it all in the hope that he was sparing Emma any more risk or notice than she had already suffered. He can't protect her anymore; he can barely feed or dress himself without an embarrassing amount of struggle and frustration. And though the greatest pain of all comes from inside him at the thought of never getting to experience the love the two of them could have shared, Killian is determined, right or wrong, to keep his distance.

The next swallow of rum burns all the way down, but he welcomes the fiery sensation, counteracting the cold numbness he feels at the separation from Emma. Thanksgiving Day had passed the day before as it has for him for many years now: lonely, bleak, and a taunting reminder of the lives and families that other people have. He should have never entertained the hope that this year would be different, that he would spend it sharing turkey, stuffing, laughter and light with people he truly cares about, who care for him as well. He might still be without blood relations, but the spark that had kindled between himself and Emma in the last few months had let him believe he might have at long last found a family for himself. The dream of no longer being alone had been abruptly and all too cruelly brought to an end, as viciously as the blows that had taken his hand.

Hanging his head, Killian places the empty tumbler on the fake wood nightstand under the window, clutching futilely at his blunted forearm with the good hand left him, hissing against the strength of the recurrent "phantom limb" pain as it comes on him again. Eventually, it passes once more, though he finds himself winded and worse for wear in the aftermath. Taking one more glance at the night lights of Boston, he pulls down the ratty blinds to cover the windows of the rented room, and lies back, exhausted and desperate to find some sleep tonight.

Doubts and nightmares have plagued him ever since he fled the hospital weeks ago. So many times, he has nearly called Ruby and asked her to pick him up so he can apologize and explain; he doesn't even know how often he has nearly walked into their familiar Boston field offices and asked Dave for the lowliest desk job there is, simply to be back in the fold and have some purpose to his life and a way to help Emma's case. More than any of his other regrets though, are the countless dreams – nightmares – of Emma he has been visited with. Sometimes, they begin with him holding her in his arms as they sleep curled together perfectly, only for him to suddenly realize that she is bleeding out, the life pouring from her right before his eyes while he has no way to stop it; in others, tears run down her cheeks, heartbreak shattering her expression as she looks at him with the betrayal he knows she has already felt so many times before, then turns her back on him and walks away.

He cannot remember anything he has wanted more in a very long time than to go back, to be there with all the people who matter in his world, to stand beside the woman he loves, but he simply cannot let his own needs – his own wishes – rule here. His pride balks at returning as a broken shell of a man who will never be the agent he once was, and stubborn, misguided fear and self-loathing still fight to convince him that Emma is better off if he stays away.

Still, Killian's last thought before finding some restless, tormented semblance of slumber is that he will at least see her soon, when they both take the stand to testify. True, it will not be the same as being her protector and hopeful future love, but he cannot help the small bit of solace it gives him to know he will at least be present to see justice served and his Swan at last safe and free. He can only hope he doesn't find cold, pitiless dismissal in her eyes when he sees her again, that somehow Emma understands why he has had to take the actions he has. It is all for her good – even if it is bringing them both heartache right now – and he will love her until he breathes his last. He may have ruined any chance of that feeling being returned in his effort to secure her safety, but he will always choose her alive over being held in his arms if that is the choice put before him. Shivering in the cold, emptiness he must wrap around himself instead, Killian Jones finally falls into the closest he can get to sleep…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~~

The morning of December 2nd dawns grey and briskly cold, the sky a blank, harsh slate as Emma Swan steps out the front door of the safe house she has been ensconced in ever since they left the hospital in Kansas, with David and Ruby close on either side of her as they hurry down the steps and into the waiting car for the short drive to the courthouse. She tries to draw deep, even breaths as they make the few turns and stops near the center of town, mulling too many separate things over in her mind to rest easily or find any sort of calm.

Ruby reaches over and clasps her hand in solidarity and encouragement, twining their fingers together where they rest on Emma's bouncing knee. Beside the fact that she will soon be facing down the man she watched pulverize Killian's hand and the woman who literally tried to carve her heart from her chest, Emma fears taking the stand itself for several reasons. She fears her background, her past, and if that will color how the judge and jury see her statement, she dreads reliving Graham's death when she has finally found a way to let his memory rest in peace, and most of all she both shrinks from and yearns for the moment she will see Killian again for the first time since he walked right out of her life.

Though she tried, Ruby had not been able to catch up to Killian; she had not come back to Boston directly with them and spent nearly a week in Kansas trailing the barest clues Killian had dropped (which weren't many) including the frightening record she'd uncovered of his time in hospital once again, before seeing that he had gone to Boston as well. Yet, as hard as she had pursued, Ruby had remained just a step behind him and had returned to her job and her charges with her own and Emma's wishes for answers and a reunion unfulfilled.

The car pulls up at the imposing stone building; the crowd and reporters everywhere more daunting than Emma cares to admit. However, dealing with them has been part of the trial prep she's received, and she stands, exiting the car with an air of imperturbable collectedness she feels far from inside, smoothing her charcoal-grey pencil skirt and holding her head high as she starts up the steps, grateful beyond measure for David and Ruby, still flanking her closely, loyal pillars of strength. Fleetingly, she thanks God once again that Henry doesn't have to be part of any of this. Margaret Blanchard is staying with him back at the safe house. Despite knowing that her little boy is taken care of and having two people she trusts with her very life at her back, she can't help wishing she and Killian were walking into this together, a united front with each other to lean on. In truth, Emma thinks she knows all too well why he disappeared, having often felt herself that she must be a jinx, burning or scaring off anyone good who comes into her life, and knowing without his ever explaining to her that Killian fears he is the same in this. Understanding does not make the desire to huddle into his warmth at this moment any less however.

Finally, they are through the shoving gauntlet of flashbulbs and shouted questions and she breathes a sigh of relief as they pause in the courthouse lobby. David Nolan turns to her with a supportive, gentle smile, clasping her upper arm for a moment, before nodding to Ruby, letting her know she's in charge as he turns to go ahead of them into the courtroom itself and make sure everything is set up to protocol. Emma turns to ask Ruby something, but as she goes to speak, the doors behind them open once again, and at catching sight of the newcomer, her blood drains from her face, her tongue freezes, and words fail her.

Killian stops stock still just inside the door, eyes locked on Emma, every bit as frozen as she is as they find themselves face-to-face once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~000000000000~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes later, they are back outside, tucked away in a seemingly secluded corner Ruby has found for them through a much less trafficked side entrance. She has already warned them that they only have about ten minutes before she needs to get Emma inside to be ready to take the stand, and Killian should follow shortly, not to mention that it won't be much longer than that before some enterprising soul with a camera explores just a bit farther and discovers their hiding place.

Emma is grateful for the cold, bracing gust of wintry air on her flushed face, however fleeting it may be. It hurts to see Killian again, right here in front of her but somehow still completely out of reach. The spot that has lain empty inside her ever since his departure aches now at the nearness of its missing piece. She can tell by the pinched quality of his paler, gaunter face that this is painful for him too, and wants to reach out to him – just barely stops her hand – not sure if that is what he wants or her right anymore.

Killian looks as though he has been through a war: drawn, slumped, lines in his face that she has never noticed before, dark traces of his sleepless nights beneath his eyes. Emma can tell by the way he stands, bent protectively with left shoulder back, that he has taken to both trying to hide his damaged arm from view and keep it from being accidentally touched. Her stomach literally lurches and twists at the amount of extra pain and anguish he has put himself through by cutting his treatment short and going it alone.

Finally, hesitant but still caring and needing to know, Emma manages to ask softly, "Killian, how are you?" It seems so plain, yet it is all she can muster and what she has most needed to know.

For a moment or two stretching on awkwardly, he seems unable to even meet her eyes. When Killian does look up to meet Emma's gaze, blindingly brilliant blue striking her from under those thick, dark brows and eyelashes, it steals her breath that beneath his sorrow and despair laid out obviously, she's still seeking out that glimmer of hope. He had sparked it within her when life had made her a jaded realist who didn't look for much good to happen at all, and now she senses that he needs that hope back if he is going to keep up the fight.

"I'll live, Lass," Killian murmurs, the barest of self-deprecating smiles quirking the side of his mouth up for a second and then disappearing. "Despite it all, it would seem that I am a survivor. It's you I'm concerned with though. Are you well?"

"Shaking in my high heels at the moment," Emma admits sheepishly, trying to give a moment's levity to their conversation, "but trying not to let it show."

"Well, it's working. You look every bit the poised and perfect witness. Deep breath, Darling. You've got this…I promise."

She pegs him then, not letting Killian's eyes shy away or hide from her stare. "Really?" she asks, not in anger, not to punish him, but because she wants his assurance, wants his words to be true, wants to see the faith he has always seemed to possess in right and justice present in his face once more. She needs him to stay and fight with her…and to know that there is still more for him when they defeat these foes once and for all – if he does not insist on denying them both their shot at happiness.

Reading her as easily as one would an open book – as he has always done, though no one else could – he senses what she is saying behind the obvious and holds her gaze, awe and disbelief warring across his features. In a voice so low Emma unconsciously leans into him to hear it, Killian asks in a gravelly rumble. "Emma…how can you still want anything to do with me? I couldn't protect you. I …I failed you when you needed me most." He licks his lips then, dips his head to look at the abruptly shortened arm he allows to move into her view. "How can you even look at me as you did, with this between us?"

The disgust in his voice, for his missing hand and the stump left behind, are almost more than Emma can stand. Before Killian can draw his arm back again, she reaches out with a gentle but determined grasp, taking hold of his forearm high enough that she hopes it will not cause pain to the still-tender amputated end. Pulling his arm forward carefully, Emma holds it against her chest, over her heart – bandages, stump, and all. "This?" she whispers, "doesn't matter to me. It doesn't make you any less desirable or strong or heroic." Emma pauses, leaning over to place the lightest touch of her lips to where his wrist and hand had been, lingering long enough to hope she will prove that she means every word she has said. "You got this trying to save me, fighting for me. Please don't think you have to be ashamed."

Killian's mouth falls open in astonishment, the warmth and tentative hope and longing flooding back into his eyes near stunning in their beauty. Emma can feel him pulling her closer with his good arm around her waist, his voice breathless and awestruck as he begins to respond. "Emma, truly? Are you sure, Love? Because – "

Before he can finish speaking, the deafening boom and crack of a gunshot rings out loudly. People scream, and Emma feels herself falling, shocked and unsure of what is happening for a moment. A second shot rings in her ears, and she feels herself being rolled, her world spinning before it rights itself, and she is under Killian, with him using his body to shield her. Emma's head clears enough to realize that Killian's well-honed instincts have allowed him to move fast, anticipating the strike and diving for her, taking her out of the bullet's path and sending them both tumbling hard to the ground.

Sound and sensation come rushing back; her hip hurts where it struck the cement and her breath is knocked out of her lungs by Killian's weight pressing down on her. She hears footsteps running toward them from all directions and can hear Ruby calling out above the yells and horns and sirens, asking them if they are alright. Emma turns her head, to find Killian's concerned gaze looking down at her tensely. "Are you alright, Swan? Are you hit?"

She shakes her head 'no', still a bit dazed, but more impressed and grateful at his quick thought and action, saving her once again. She opens her mouth to tell him just how good a protector he still is, when he blinks his eyes a bit wearily, that steady, intense gaze of his wavering a bit out of focus. Emma is suddenly aware of something wet and warm spreading over her torso. Looking down, she sees that Killian has taken one of the bullets to the shoulder and his blood is spilling rapidly over them both.

"It's nothing, Swan," he reassures, seeing the frightened look on her face, and attempting to get to his feet. "Merely a scratch." But his voice slurs distressingly at the statement and he stops trying to stand. She knows he is already weaker than he would like to admit from everything else he has put his body through. Instead he lets out a sigh and slumps against her, head resting wearily on her chest. Ruby reaches them just then, and Emma tries to explain that she's fine, it's Killian who has been hit, but when she turns to him again, his eyes are closed and he doesn't answer.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: As Long as We're Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last full length chapter to this beast of a story, and I truly hope you will enjoy some of the resolution that begins here and carries over into the epilogue. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed this; it has truly made me so happy to see comments and feel that the story has been enjoyed. I do have to say that, as with my medical and FBI knowledge, most of my knowledge of courtroom drama and legal procedures also comes from television and novels. I did my best to make this seem believable, but I may have some details wrong.
> 
> So, anyway, on with the show!

_ Chapter Nineteen: As Long as We're Together _

Waking to find Emma at his bedside, waiting anxiously for his eyes to open as she holds his good hand in hers, is the most healing sight Killian Jones could be greeted by upon his return to consciousness. Only a short interval of time has passed, but Killian is still disoriented for a moment, wondering confusedly how Emma is there with him again and how he ended up basically resting in comfort in the hospital once more. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a cleansing breath and gathering his bearings, and he cannot help wondering once more if the past few weeks have only been a long, painful hallucination.

One look at Emma's concerned, anxious face, however, reminds him clearly that it has all been torturously real. She gives him a tiny smile that wobbles at the edges, reaching out to brush the dark fringe of his hair off his forehead as her eyes warm with affection. Her voice is a whisper, but a pleasant one that eases his mind and his soul as she greets him happily. "Killian, you're awake…You came back to me."

Tears of relief track steadily down her cheeks, and without thinking, he reaches up his left arm to wipe them away, only hesitating when the stump comes into view, reminding him once more that hand and those fingers are no longer there. Emma takes his blunted forearm in her hand when he pauses and draws it closer, pressing the bandaged limb against her cheek and holding it close, as if nothing could be more soothing.

He feels his heart swell at her action, unable to miss her unspoken assurance that she needs him there beside her and still wants his touch to ease her pain and fears. He stops trying to pull his arm away and allows it to rest against her skin, taking as much comfort from the contact as she does. Searching her eyes to ferret out any falsehood she might offer to spare his feelings, Killian gazes up at her, holding her stare when he speaks. "Were you hurt, Emma? Did either of those gunshots strike you?"

She shakes her head, realizing he had been fading out of consciousness when she reassured him at the scene. "Not a scratch, thanks to my amazing FBI protector," she answers, pride and love for him shining so brilliantly in her green eyes that even a blind man couldn't miss it.

"I just pushed you out of the way," he murmurs, the tips of his ears turning red at her effusive praise and his head bowing shyly as well. "It didn't require any great skill. I'm still a hand short and a liability."

"Hardly," Emma argues back, her chin jutting out with determination. "Your instincts are impeccable. No one else responded as quickly. You saved my life, Killian. There is no way you can't still do your job."

He doesn't want to argue with Emma, not now when he is finally allowed the warmth of her presence again, is feeling it fill the cold, emptiness he had imposed upon himself while he was gone. Not to mention that he wants to believe her – much more fervently than he would choose to admit. Instead, he inclines his head in the barest nod of deference to her, a fleeting smile of gratitude on his lips. "Maybe you're right, Emma," he allows softly. "Maybe you're right."

~~~~~~~~~~~~00000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~00000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~

Once properly attended to and allowing himself to recuperate as he should, Killian heals quickly. Given correct bandage changes and flushing of the wound, regular administration of the correct medications for pain, and the begin of therapy on the remaining limb, Jones can feel himself growing stronger, inching back toward the self-reliance and capability he has always possessed. More than that though, Killian knows in his heart that being where he belongs – with Emma – is the true difference in his outlook and recovery. There is a point and a reason for the effort now.

The trial was postponed of a necessity, with one of the crucial witnesses injured, until this day, two weeks later, and as had Emma prepares herself in her room that morning, she reflected on how differently she felt now than she did heading to the courthouse just a week ago. She is wearing the same outfit, headed to the same destination, and ready to offer the exact same testimony, but having Killian's fingers threaded with hers, her hand clasped in his, and his form beside her as they ascend the courthouse steps side by side makes all the difference in her confidence and belief this time around. This was all she had wished for to give her strength in her previous journey to the witness stand.

It seems she barely blinks and only moments pass before they are in the large, formal room – audience, lawyers, judge, and jurors all around, looking on in imposing silence. Emma swallows hard at the sight of Robert Gold and Cora Mills seated at the defense table, looking unconcerned, blank, and somehow – to her, at least – still threatening, nearly makes her steps falter and stops her progress to where she will sit with the prosecuting attorneys.

Killian squeezes her hand encouragingly, urging her on, and she regains her stride, taking her seat calmly without giving Gold or his sadistic harpy either one another glance. "Alright, Lass?" he whispers in her ear as they get settled, just before the judge calls the trial to order.

She holds his eyes for a brief moment, giving him a quick nod of agreement.

He squeezes her hand once more, adding as if he cannot help but pass a bit more goodness to her before the trial moves forward. "There is nothing they can do to you now. They cannot hide their evil in the darkness anymore. They face their reckoning now."

All she really has time to say – and to hope with all her heart – is, "I hope so."

When the time comes for Emma to take the stand for cross examination, after already giving her witness testimony, it is late in the afternoon. Her eyewitness recounting that morning of the events she had seen and experienced had gone without a hitch. She felt sympathy from the previously faceless listeners when she had broken down at reliving Graham's murder and the fear she had felt for her child as they ran for their lives. She heard more than one listener gasp when she told of being stabbed in the chest and having to watch the assault on Killian in that horrible dark basement she had thought they would never escape from alive.

However, as she returns to the stand, Emma has a bit of a bad moment where she feels utterly paralyzed. Sitting there staring out at strangers, the avid, listening faces of so many people she doesn't know and cannot read, along with a judge who appears both intimidating and mildly disapproving, and Gold's pricey defense attorney who looks ready to swoop in on her and go for the kill., Emma has to clasp her hands tightly in her lap, praying no one will see the way they have begun to tremble. Biting the inside of her cheek and hoping that her voice will not quaver or disappear on her completely, Emma forces herself to look away from the gleefully sadistic grin Cora Mills levels at her, still chilling her blood in her veins and looking not a bit fazed by the punishment coming to her. Emma simply cannot look at Gold at all – not without seeing that mallet swinging down to crush Killian's hand.

The defense lawyer steps forward, ready to begin his questioning, a dark pall moving forward to close in like a shadow over the sun, and Emma knows she has to find a way to steel herself. She only has moments to steady her voice, gather her words and her nerve again. There is no way she can risk letting these monsters get away with what they have done – not only for Graham's sake and for herself, but what is more important in Emma's mind…for Henry's sake, and for Killian's. Quickly, her eyes dart to where Killian sits. The effect is nearly instantaneous as his intoxicating blue gaze is waiting for her, wrapping her up and holding her tightly, as if he can shield her without even touching her. Somehow it truly does calm her fears; she gazes back until the questions are leveled at her and the words come. The fear is gone. As long as he is with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~000000000000000~~~~~~~~~~

One week later, the clichéd phrase that one could "hear a pin drop" is undeniably true in the crowded courtroom as the trial verdict is about to be read. The bailiff brings the jury's recommendation to the judge with all due solemnity, handing the piece of paper that seems to be weighted with all Emma's hopes for peace and a normal life upon it, then backs away to stand at his usual post. The entire gathering seems to be wait with bated breath, just as Emma does, on the edge of their seats with tension. She knows she is clutching Killian's remaining hand too hard as he sits rigidly beside her, tension in every line of his body as well, and she forcibly makes herself loosen her grip before he loses feeling in his fingers or has to pull away completely.

Presently, the judge clears his throat and begins to speak in his deliberate, sonorous voice. "The jury has found – and I concur – both Robert Gold and Cora Mills guilty of murder in the first degree, attempted murder, aggravated assault, kidnapping, and extortion. They are hereby sentenced to life in prison without parole…" His words carry on as exclamations and whispers go up around the courtroom, but the rest of his proclamation is lost to Emma's ears. The so-called Queen of Hearts slumps in her seat, as if suddenly defeated by the realization that she has been found guilty and her reign of terror is at an end. For a woman with such cultured bearing and obvious preference for the finer things, jail must be a bleak prospect indeed – not that Emma finds she can muster up much sympathy.

Gold erupts, flailing demonically against the guards who have come to cart he and his associate away, flinging curses and veiled threats that they haven't seen the last of him and he isn't finished yet. Gone however is the imposing reptilian beast he has seemed while haunting her nightmares; Emma sees him now for the cruel, sniveling coward he is, a man who has hidden behind the masks of money and power, working in the dark with hired muscle to achieve his treacherous aims.

After that, everything around them outside of she and Killian seems to fade into a hazy background. She doesn't see the flashbulbs going off from reporters' cameras or register the questions being shouted at fever pitch or notice the microphones thrust into her face. All she really feels is falling into his chest, tears of relief and cleansing pouring down both of their faces. He is a steady rock of support, but she feels him trembling too and thinks of how much longer he has been waiting for this day, to see justice served for his brother, his lost love…and for himself. In that moment, all that matters to Emma is Killian's arm around her, gathering her to his side as they begin to move away from the crowd. Somehow, before she is really aware, they have reached the outside of the courthouse again, the sharp winter sun glaring blindingly down on them, and Ruby and David flanking them closely, along with several other agents and police officers part of the escort as well. None of it really penetrates the bubble Emma finds herself floating in, so glad that this is over she cannot process much beyond that giant, relieving fact.

She knows, as they all do, that Gold may still have underlings –as will Cora, and even her former boss Spencer – lieutenants hoping to step into the crime boss' place and wear his discarded crown. Those few people may still be hunting her for a time, wanting to make sure there are no leftover loose ends or to make a show of their own strength, but she finally sees the light at the end of what has been a long, dark tunnel. Emma knows with sudden clarity that they have at last reached the other side. She may have to change her name, her looks, where she and Henry live once more; yet, Emma feels in her bones that this time it will be different…this time it will last. Maybe she and Henry will finally have a place, not just to lay their heads, but to call home. Despite the fear and heartache that started this journey, despite the adjustments and uncertainty in the immediate future, for the first time in a very long time, Emma feels true joy.

Tipping her head up to smile at Killian, sunlight blaring down all around them and illuminating his lovely face, she flushes when he murmurs, "You did it, Love," and hugs her close while bending to kiss her forehead. "And now you're free."

She shakes her head with a wide grin, answering him right back as she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him in return just before getting into their car. "No, Killian…We did it. Together. And we're both finally free."

"Aye, Lass," he agrees wholeheartedly, acknowledging both what she says and the end of the dark, questing lonely years he has weathered on his own. "That we are."

  
As they leave the trial behind the rearview mirror, Emma knows that he has already begun to heal – and that time will eventually take care of the rest for both of them. She is finally going to belong somewhere, with someone who loves her, and she knows that this person… _ her Killian _ …will stay.


	21. Epilogue: Like Some Kind of Fairy Tale

_ Epilogue: Like Some Kind of Fairy Tale _

_ Three Years Later, Rock Harbor Marina on the Michigan shore of Lake Superior _

Emma Swan breathes in the crisp, September morning air as she turns her face toward the rising sunbeams and their pleasant warmth. Basking in the early light, she cannot help grinning broadly; almost unable to believe she can be this content, as the warmth of the sun's rays heats her face despite the autumn chill. Running a hand through her sleep-disheveled hair, Emma steps out onto the wooden planks barefoot and holding her hands cozily around the green tea she's grown fond of in the last few months.

Looking out over the horizon and the gently rolling waves in the harbor, Emma savors this morning in the life she now leads. All of her years drifting rootless and alone have finally led her to a home she never wants to leave. Walking to the end of the dock, she turns to look back the way she came, affection warm in her eyes. True, not everyone would be thrilled beyond belief at the idea of making permanent residence in a houseboat on the coast of one of the Great Lakes, but it seems so simple and idyllic here for her, Henry, and Killian. Emma feels that perhaps this was where she was always meant to be. Stretching her still-sleepy body and placing a hand to an aching muscle in her lower back, Emma has to chuckle at herself reveling in the peaceful sunrise, when she could once have easily slept well past noon. Not so long ago, she worked all night in the false neon glare of Vegas and slept all day, walking through her life without realizing that in so many ways she was still searching. It wasn't until she found true happiness that she understood just how much love her heart could hold.

She isn't at all surprised to feel the vibrations of someone else walking down the dock behind her, drawing nearer with each step. Without ever looking, Emma knows who it is and smiles to herself, glad he has missed her and come to find her, even though she tried so hard to let him sleep, to be quiet and careful not to wake him when she had crawled out of bed. When Killian reaches her, his arms immediately wrap around her, tugging her gently until her back leans against his chest and nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. "Morning, Love," he rasps in her ear, his voice low and still rough with sleep, sending tremors of delicious electricity running through her veins. It isn't hard to melt into his embrace and be held – not anymore. It is a luxury he has finally taught her to enjoy, being surrounded in the arms of the one she loves. She never would have pegged him for such a cuddler when they first met, but she finds it doesn't really bother her one bit.

Her eyes fall to where his hand rests on her rounded, ever-growing stomach, wedding band glinting on his finger in the dawn's new light. They had gone to the courthouse for a very simple ceremony – neither having any family or many friends, nor wanting to draw any attention, one of the elderly female clerks there serving as an adorably teary witness, and Henry proudly serving as both ring bearer and best man – just barely a year ago, and sometimes the sight of her ring on his finger still startles her, making Emma's heart swell with joy and disbelief that she is truly Killian's wife and this is not all a dream. The wedding band may be on his right ring finger, as he had argued that he "wasn't wearing an emblem so important on a bloody fake, plastic part of himself", but it doesn't matter a bit to Emma, so long as it is there reminding her that they will be together always. She has to tease him a bit though, even if it is around a lump in her throat. "Have trouble reaching around my gigantic midsection?" she snarks playfully.

"Hardly, Darling," he responds immediately, stroking both hand and stump over the bump where their baby is growing in such a tender, loving way that warmth floods her in overwhelming waves. "You're bloody brilliant. Have you not learned yet, Emma? I am a fan of every part of you."

"Seriously, Jones?" she responds, both charmed and exasperated by how ridiculously perfect he is. Turning in his embrace so she can look Killian in the eye, she frames his face with her hands on his cheeks. "How are you even real?" Surging forward, she winds her arms around his neck, diving into an impulsive, urgent kiss.

Taken aback only for a second, Killian's groan of appreciation rumbles through his chest and reverberates against her own. He pushes forward, tongue joining their duel, hand and stump both roaming over her wantonly, and pressing her up against the railing at the end of the dock.

Emma falls into the spell only he can place her under for several blissful, perfect minutes, reveling in her husband's skilled mouth and ardent fervor. Henry is at the local diner in town getting breakfast with Ruby and her wolfhound mix Pete, who have finally been given the all clear that it's safe to visit. Henry had actually stayed the night at the town's one small inn with Killian's former partner, a night and morning after alone, as a sort of early anniversary present for them from the incorrigible younger agent.

Finally though, Emma pulls back, biting her lower lip and trying to catch her breath. Her hands trail down, brushing over his shoulders, until gently clutching at his bicep, she pushes him away just a bit. "Easy there, Tiger,' she cautions, a smile tilting her mouth with a bit of a taunt. "Or we'll be giving our grumpy neighbor a free show."

"Aye," Killian sighs in agreement, bowing his head until their foreheads rest together, panting lightly for breath himself, "and get another complaint called into the sheriff's office on us."

The cranky old fisherman who owns the small trawler in the slip next to their houseboat, Leroy Dorfman, is out with his fishing rod already this morning, and he has made it clear more than once that he doesn't need to witness any public displays of affection from them. Obviously, a loner and set in his ways, the man generally tends to grumble at both of them, and even at Henry, in passing – no matter what they do, but for some odd reason it entertains Emma more than anything, and perhaps nothing more than perverse stubbornness makes her keep wanting to get on his good side and make him into a friend, despite his more than a bit prickly temperament.

"Most excitement that old codger is likely to get this week," Killian mutters unfazed, leaning in towards her once more.

"Mmm… I don't think so, Buddy," Emma sighs, seeing Ruby and Henry coming towards them down the docks from the main part of town. "Here comes Ruby and our son. I think we're going to have to take a rain check."

As she comes toward them, smirking and shaking her head, Ruby's mischievous look is already making Emma blush, even before she speaks up to say a word. Emma shakes her head just as good humoredly in return. She can hear Ruby's buoyant voice regaling Henry with some story of a "breaking in the new recruit" trick she had played on her new partner at the FBI – August Booth, Emma thought she remembered Ruby calling him. Henry is the perfect enthralled audience for his vivacious friend, giggling along as she gestures wildly to further illustrate the events of her story.

Both Emma and Killian turn to walk back toward the newcomers and the boat as they see Ruby hop easily from the dock onto the deck of their vessel, then reach out to catch Henry as he leaps after her and swing him through the air to his obvious glee.

Killian steps down onto the familiar surface of the deck he happily calls his home these days with similar ease, then turns back, offering Emma an arm to help her down after him, as her expanding belly has begun to throw of her balance a bit and make her slightly less agile. As always, his attentiveness and care touch Emma deeply, going right to her heart. Not so very long ago, she would never have imagined she could be so loved.

Strolling forward to join Ruby and her son at the bow of their little ship, she leans on the railing as she wishes her friend a good morning.

Ruby turns, beaming, and pulls Emma into a hug, despite the baby bump between them. "Wow, Emma!" she exclaims, her eyes nothing but happy for her friend. "It must be true what they say, that pregnancy suits some women. You really are glowing!"

Emma's eyes water just a bit with emotion. "I don't know if it's all the baby…or if it's finally finding a home, seeing Henry happy and safe...and having Killian here loving us both. It's more than I ever hoped for when this all began."

Ruby nods her understanding, a quiet moment overtaking them, which they allow for in several comfortable beats of companionable silence. Then she grins at Emma conspiratorially. "I should take a picture of how great you look to show David and Mary when I get back. With Leo in his terrible twos now, Dave's lucky if he's even wearing a clean shirt when he comes into work some mornings, and they both look completely frazzled most times you see them. They'll definitely want to know your secret!"

Emma laughs, knowing all too well that carrying an unborn little one and chasing after a toddler are two very different things, but she is happy to hear how her other two friends are doing and to be a part of her Ruby's joke. Not long after the trial ended, David Nolan had proposed to Mary Blanchard, saying they had lost enough time separated and he wanted to spend every year he had left in this world with her. Henry's elated teacher had of course wasted no time accepting his proposal joyfully, and they'd held a small but perfect wedding before Emma and Killian had left Boston so that their friends could all be in attendance. Emma knew that Mary had moved from Kansas to Boston with all speed, and that she couldn't be happier than she was at being reunited with her long lost first love.

In the end, though Emma did wish she could see these people who had played such an important part in her life more often, she and Killian had both felt safer relocating once more. The Bureau had not thought it necessary to keep her in witness protection, as Gold and Cora were both found guilty and would not be seeing the outside world again. The shooting at the courthouse did not seem likely to be repeated now that the verdict had been reached and Emma had no information on any new leaders who might try to rebuild Gold's empire. She could go back to being Emma Swan with a sweet little boy named Henry – though she would never have to be the lost and lonely orphan that went along with that name, not ever again.

Looking over her shoulder she sees Killian at the helm of their little pleasure craft, and he sends her a gentle smile, the knowing gleam in his eyes making Emma feel as though he is once more reading her mind. She walks back to stand beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder and sighing in true content as his arm curls around her and pulls her into his side. As they leave the marina for a short sail around the lake, Emma thrills at Henry's little squeals of delight while he points out things he notices to Ruby and she makes all the proper appreciative exclamations.

The breeze cools Emma's face and ruffles her hair while she gazes out over the horizon that stretches before them. Drawing in a deep breath of Killian's warm, spicy scent from where her nose is pressed close to his chest, Emma looks up to him once more, then back out to the open water and sky. The way ahead has never seemed so clear.


End file.
